


Rules of Engagement

by steeely



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, EWE, F/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Relationship Intervention, post-angst, questionable friendship choices, warfic that's not during the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-04 05:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13357539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeely/pseuds/steeely
Summary: “From that night until now, years later, it felt to Draco as if a string had stretched taut, pinning and connecting the two of them across various moments in time. Across the years, across the globe, across battlefields, courtrooms, and classrooms—it was only a matter of time until they were suddenly side by side again.”COMPLETEIn the wake of the second wizarding war, Draco is surprised to be on the receiving end of a ridiculous intervention he never asked for, with everyone giving advice in their own...unique way. What kind of friends stage a relationship intervention? Dramione, Post-war AU, EWE.





	1. The Intervention

#### Chapter 1: The Intervention

 

 _The things I do for my friends..._ Pansy sent up the thought as a silent prayer as she knocked knees with Ginny Weasley for the upteenth time under the small, cramped table in the corner of a stylish Diagon Alley cafe. The redheaded witch shot Pansy a sharp look, and Pansy found herself glad that she had chosen to call this meeting of wizards in a public space. The cafe was neutral ground, new to the neighborhood, and busy for an early weekend morning. Pansy was relieved when all the invitees had agreed to meet and only half-hoped they wouldn’t up and leave when they realized what they had signed up for or whose knees theirs were knocking against under the tabletop.

A comforting hand rested on her arm, and she looked to her left to see Blaise Zabini, one of her oldest friends. He smiled reassuringly at her, causing the premature crows-feet wrinkles to deepen around his eyes, “Go on, Pans.” he prompted. But Pansy instead found herself staring at those wrinkles that were a testament to the living hell they had survived, that had stolen their childhoods and years later still managed to press on them, bone-deep, making its presence physically known by the crows feet, and stiff joints, and scars.

She wet her lips and glanced across the table at the final wizard seated with them, the man with a face that in her mind was synonymous with the war. It was burned into her brain from countless wanted posters and newspapers and now stared back at her across a table of kettles and doilies. His face was older now, more filled out, and with a polite smile plastered on his lips. It was his testimony before the Wizengamot during those tumultuous months after the war that most likely had saved her, Blaise, and their former classmates from incarceration at Azkaban. Pansy had a sudden thought that even after she grew old and had long forgotten the faces of her mother and father, that she would still remember Harry Potter’s, peering back through the years.

Noticing Pansy’s gaze, Ginny reached over and laid a protective hand across her husband’s knee, a ring sparkling on her finger. Pansy held the other woman’s stare before opening her mouth to speak,

“Is someone else joining us?” Ginny interrupted, motioning to the fifth seat that sat empty between Blaise and Harry. The no-mans-land chair of demarcation separated the two groups.

“Yes . . . that’s actually why I called everyone here today.” Pansy began, as good a time as any to cut to the chase. She shifted in her chair, bumping knees with Ginny _again_ , wincing as she earned herself another sharp glance.

“Who is it.” Ginny intoned, the phrase barely a question. But Pansy could practically see the train of thought circling around the other girl’s head; there were two of “us” and two of “them”, another guest may tip the numbers unevenly in one direction or the other. The war may have ended years ago, but there were still subconscious habits born of self-preservation and necessity that persisted. Pansy knew that just as well as anyone; even after years of trying to retrain her thought process, she still defaulted to categorizing wizards by their blood status.

But damn it, if she wasn’t trying here. Which is why she was grateful when Harry placed a hand over the one that Ginny rested on his knee, as if to call off her inquisition, “Pansy, you said earlier that this was something about Hermione?”

“Yes, it is, about Hermione and--” As if summoned, the wizard who’s name was on the tip of Pansy’s tongue strode in through the entrance to the cafe, one hand in his pocket, the other shaking snow from his blonde bangs as he scanned the cramped room, locking eyes with Pansy as he moved towards their table in the back. Draco Malfoy folded himself elegantly into the fifth seat of no-mans-land between Blaise and Harry, leaning back to survey the group.

“My, my, Pansy, this is _quite_ the ragtag team you’ve assembled.” The blonde heir drawled boredly, and Pansy could see Ginny stiffen even further in her peripheral. To his credit, Harry didn’t bat an eye at the nails that were no doubt digging into his knee, nor the fact that his childhood tormentor sat next to him, pouring himself some tea from a kettle painted with bunnies.

“Draco.” Harry nodded at the blonde, no doubt more used to his once-rival’s presence now since the war.

“Potter.” Draco responded, taking a sip of tea. The tenuous civility stretched between them, and Pansy would have rolled her eyes if she didn’t need everyone on speaking terms for her plan.

“Good to see ya, mate.” Blaise clapped Draco on the back in greeting, and earned a half-smile from his fellow Slytherin.

“So Pans, would you care to tell me _why_ you asked me to trek through the snow on an early Sunday morning to bump knees with old schoolmates?” Draco asked, raising a pale eyebrow at Pansy. This table was _definitely_ too small.

“Yes, well, now that you’re here I can begin. _Draco_ ,” She said, leveling a manicured finger at the blonde as he swiped a biscuit off the tray between them, “how long have you been dating Hermione Granger?”

“Three years.” He answered dismissively around the cookie, “You all know that. I’ve been forced to observe Potter’s atrocious table manners for three Christmases now.”

Harry scowled at Draco over his teacup. So much for civility.

“Nu-uh. It’s been longer than that.” Pansy pressed, “She testified at the ministry for you during our trials after the war.”

“That doesn’t mean we were dating.” It was Draco’s turn to scowl at Pansy.

“But you were _something._ ” Pansy pressed.

“Hermione’s told me the stories.” Ginny chimed in. Now that the redhead realized she wasn’t the one being cornered, she was more than happy to dogpile on Malfoy’s discomfort, “About finding each other on the battlefield and being unable to throw any spells, about your change of heart and joining The Order, the two of you bumping into each other at random safe houses—”

“Your point?” Draco asked icily, the remainder of his cookie abandoned on his plate as he crossed his arms.

“The _point_ is that it’s been much longer than three years.” Pansy summarized. Draco scoffed, but it was Blaise’s turn to chime in, counting the years off on his fingers,

“Let’s see, the war disrupted our 7th year at Hogwarts where we were forced to fight for two years—although you switched sides early on, so I’ll count that as one and a half--then the trials lasted for almost two years after it ended, when you were acquitted you disappeared for a year, then a few months of ministry training when you came home, and since then your three years of _officially_ dating Granger.” Blaise wiggled his eight raised fingers in front of him, looking to Ginny for confirmation, “Does that sound right?”

Ginny nodded, eagerly leaning forward and putting her chin in her hand conspiratorially, “Yes, that _does_ sound like the eight years of hot-and-cold drama that Hermione’s been regaling me with for so long.”

“Only 5 years of drama, Gin. Remember, they’ve been _official_ for three of the eight.” Harry reminded his wife pleasantly, tapping her hand as he grinned over at Draco, who’s glower seemed to darken with every counterpoint raised against him. The blonde leaned back in his seat, hands shoved in his pockets as he regarded the other wizards at the table,

“And you all felt the burning need to summon me on a _Sunday morning_ to a dingy cafe to remind me of my tumultuous relationship history? I’m perfectly capable of remembering that on my own. I was the one who _lived_ it, after all.” Draco sneered. At this, all eyes turned towards Pansy. She was the one who had started down this line of questioning.

“So, when’s the proposal?” Pansy asked with forced nonchalance, spinning a delicate spoon in her teacup.

“What.” The little color that was there drained from Draco’s face.

“I mean it’s been between eight to three years, depending on your source. And everyone at this table knows that you two are meant to be, you’re in it for the long haul—even if it took some of us longer to come around to it—but you and Granger have cleared more hurdles than some married couples do in their lifetimes and--”

“What she means, mate,” Blaise interrupted, coming to the rescue of Pansy’s ramblings, “is that it’s obvious Granger’s the last stop for you.”

Draco was silent, his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling, as if calling upon a higher power to give him the strength not to throttle the only wizards that weren’t still calling for him to be thrown in Azkaban. Minus Hermione.

“And we want to help you.” Pansy said, cheeks flushed as she laid her hands flat on the table, glancing to Ginny for feminine support with what she was going to suggest next, “Let us help you plan the proposal.”

“Oh—yes!” Ginny caught onto Pansy’s intent with a glint in her eye, “We can help you iron out all the details!”

Draco passed a hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples with his forefinger and thumb.

“If you couldn’t think of a way to propose, Draco, you could have just asked. No need to force Pansy to stage an intervention.” Blaise teased.

“And I’m to believe you have nothing to say about this?” Draco deadpanned, peering out from behind his hand to address the Boy Who Lived sitting next to him.

“She makes you a better man, Draco.” Harry grinned at the blonde’s discomfort, “And like you mentioned, we already spend our Christmases together.”

“So!” Pansy clapped, looking around the table at the four smiling wizards and one miserable Malfoy, relieved that everyone was in agreement and Draco hadn’t tried to make a dramatic escape yet, “Right, I’ll go first then. Here’s _my_ suggestion for your proposal . . .”  
  
~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks. I came out of fanfic retirement to write this one because I love the Dramione pairing. This fic is completely written, multi-chaptered (not many), and will be updated once a week until complete.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to all the mods, users, and contributors over at the DramioneAsks tumblr! Those guys are a fantastic community and work hard for this fabulous OTP. If you've ever found a fic using their site, you know what I'm talking about.
> 
> Big thanks to my beta, Chromat1cs! If you're a Wolfstar fan, why haven't you read her fics?
> 
> Cheers!


	2. Pansy's Turn

#### Chapter 2: Pansy's Turn

 

~

It was a rainy night in Rome, Italy,

~

“You want me to wait until its _raining_ in _Italy_ to propose?” Draco interrupted, a pale eyebrow raised.

“It adds to the atmosphere.” Ginny scoffed, waving her hand at Pansy, “Keep going."

~

And Hermione walked briskly down the sidestreets and alleys that would take her back to her hotel. She practically skipped across the cobblestones, skirting around puddles in her giddiness. The Ministry had sent her to Italy for some super important work that she totally did for the, uh--her department.

~

“Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.” Harry supplemented.

~

For the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She had been sent to Rome on a business trip to negotiate with the Italian offices about their procedures and treatment of the illegal house-elf trade, and talks had gone so well that they had ended early that night. Hermione had decided to forego her cab back to the hotel and opted instead to meander through the drizzling streets, taking in the surroundings and ancient architecture of the beautiful city around her.

Years ago during the Second Wizarding War, she had jumped to several different countries while fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters, becoming a key leader in the insurrection to overthrow the Dark Lord. The battles were scattered across two years and mainly centered around Britain—the seat of the European wizarding Ministry and thus a hotbed for Death Eater activity—but several large fights had also taken place on the continent. Hermione had locked wands with the enemy in Russia, Spain, and several Scandinavian countries, but never Italy. The city around her was unmarred from the memories of mud and blood that tended to stir up in her now and then.

Peals of laughter and clinking glass filtered out of nearby bars that she walked past, mixing with the delicious smells of late-night cafes and Hermione found herself suddenly lonely, a pang of solitude sliding through her chest. Her long-term boyfriend was off on his own Ministry assignment, and she had only been away from him for a week although it felt like so much longer. Lights danced off the slick streets that her boots carried her across, and she found herself back at her hotel sooner than she would have liked, pulled from her thoughts.

Hermione entered the wizarding hotel through the ornate golden door held open for her by the doorman and froze two steps inside. There, off to her right and opposite to the front desk was a little cluster of overstuffed chairs and reading lamps. One of them was occupied by a man that Hermione would have been able to instantly pick out of a crowd, nonetheless an empty hotel lobby. Draco Malfoy lounged back in the chair elegantly, and with an ease that would have made Hermione think he owned the hotel, owned all of Italy, if she hadn’t known better. His pale features were colored by the warm interior lighting and the bright burn of a cigarette as he took a long drag from it, his eyes suddenly flicking up to meet hers.

~

“Pansy, when have you _ever_ seen me smoke? What a disgusting muggle habit.” Draco’s smooth nose scruntched at the thought.

“But it’s a cool hobby! It’s moody!” Pansy defended, blush rising to her cheeks. Recently, as part of her attempts to retrain the way she thought about blood status, Pansy had watched some old black and white muggle movies. Some she had enjoyed and some she had found silly, but practically everyone smoked in them and looked dramatic doing it.

“I don’t smoke.” Draco sighed.

“Fine then,” Pansy conceded, “How about--”

~

His pale features were colored by the warm interior lighting as he scanned the newspaper open in front of him. Several of the front page pictures were excitedly moving in celebration of some local holiday, but Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes away from Draco’s face to pay them any attention.

~

“A newspaper? Isn’t it late at night?” Draco critiqued. Pansy rolled her eyes,

~

His pale features were colored by the warm interior lighting as he absently took a sip of coffee.

~

“Again, coffee at night? I’ll never get to bed.”

“Merlin’s _beard_ , _Draco_.” Pansy seethed,

~

His pale features were colored by the warm interior lighting and the glow that danced across his face as he stared absently into the nearby fireplace, enraptured by the embers and not doing anything else like reading or drinking. His eyes suddenly flicked up to meet Hermione’s and her breath caught in her throat as he gracefully stood and crossed the lobby towards her, not once breaking eye contact.

Her body thrummed in response to his approach, as if there was a taunt instrumental string between them that vibrated more and more the closer that they were to each other. She had felt it hum between them on the battlefield despite the explosions and curses being thrown every which way, felt it as he had stared at her during the numerous Wizengamot trials as if she was the only Witch in the room, felt it even after Draco had been exonerated and disappeared, during the long nights where she would close her eyes and look inwardly on herself, reaching out and holding onto that humming string inside her that told her he was still alive somewhere.

And as he crossed to her through the golden lobby, the vibrating of that chord made her hands tremble.

Draco stepped just inside of her personal space, as he usually did, and she had to tip her head back to hold eye contact. She was struck, as she usually was, by the breadth of his shoulders and how tall he had grown in the intervening years, filling out into his form from boyhood to manhood. He was still of slim build despite his labor-intense years as an Auror with the Ministry, yet derived his near-trademark intimidation from his height and that cutting gaze which he now turned on Hermione as he leaned over her. His voice lowered to match their physical closeness,

“Fancy meeting you here, Granger.” A smirk traveled up his cheek as she grinned.

“Yes, it’s _quite_ a coincidence, _Mr. Malfoy._ ” She replied, eyebrows raised in mocking as she played along, “As I recall, you also had a Ministry assignment in Belarus this week? Some 2 to 3,000 kilometers away?”

“2,400 kilometers and a very long train ride.” His lashes fluttered lower, and the small space between them became suddenly intimate with that simple gesture. The air shifted and her breathing hitched, but Hermione continued,

“Yes and did you leave Auror Nott, _your partner_ , to fend for himself in Eastern Europe?”

“Nott has nothing to fend himself off against, the V-symp trail went cold and we were called back to the Ministry.” Draco’s eyes immediately dipped to Hermione’s lips as she unconsciously licked them. V-symp was Ministry slang for Voldemort-sympathizer, and a good portion of Auror work these days was about preventing a Third Wizarding War by stamping out splinter groups that had fled or escaped the Ministry’s roundups. Draco’s eyes stayed locked onto her lips, “I just happened to take a detour.”

~

“That’s, uh, a lot of exposition there, Pans. You don’t think--” Blaise stumbled, trying to steer his friend out of the weeds.

“What, no! No, it’s good! Keep going!” Ginny interrupted with Gryffindor conviction and waved the darker-haired girl along. The redhead’s cheeks were flushed and she was obviously swept up in Pansy’s little story. Harry grinned from next to her at his wife’s enthusiasm.

“ _Thank_ you.” Pansy addressed Ginny specifically, ignoring Blaise. Off to her left, Draco began massaging his temples again.

~

“Did you now?” Hermione murmured, reaching a hand out to grab onto one of his lapels, rubbing her thumb along the fabric.

“I did.” He slowly shifted, mirroring her movement as he ghosted a pale thumb across her lower lip. With that simple motion, Hermione felt as if he had reached inside her and strummed the string between them, sending the humming buzz back up into her ears and causing her hands to tremble.

Draco stepped back, vacating her space and instead taking hold of the hand she rested on his lapel. He tugged her back towards the lobby doors, “Come on then.”

Hand in hand, they walked through the rainy streets of Rome, and Hermione found herself following her boyfriend back through the alleyways and around the puddles that she had just crossed earlier. His quick step and tall form seemed to cut through the drizzle and she lagged behind him for a moment staring at his back, his customary dark clothes almost blending him into the slanted shadows were it not for the shock of platinum blonde hair on his head.

The film of memory shifted over her vision just then and she felt herself back in Ireland, during the war, in formation behind Draco. Back then, just as they were now, they had moved silently in single file as they wove their way through the heart of a Death Eater encampment on what most members of the Order would have considered a suicide mission. They had broken protocol at the same time that night, she remembered, both of them wordlessly reaching out for each other, nervous hands locking together as Draco lead the way towards the General they were sent to assassinate. Hermione watched his back as they achieved their goal, Draco throwing the killing curse that would cripple Death Eater command and Hermione saving him from several vicious hexes as she covered their backs during the retreat. Their hands didn’t break until they had aparated back to the Order’s safehouse, and when his fingers finally left hers, sliding across slick Death Eater blood, she had first felt the faint thrums of the string between them.

With a tilt of his head Draco caught her eye, amusement playing on his mouth, and as he spoke the memory dissipated into the rain,

“We’re here.” He said, stopping and bringing her around next to him. Before them stood one of the cozy little cafes that Hermione had passed earlier, the light, smell, and sounds of late-night dinner faire still filtering out across the street. The interior was warm and decorated in oranges and greens, the colors distorted and fuzzy through the rain on the glass.

With a light touch on the small of her back, he lead her into the narrow building, a bell tinkering above them indicated their arrival. A loud, gesturing waiter greeted them and conversed with Hermione in Italian before leading them to the back of the room, Draco following her lead. Hermione smiled to herself at the reversal, so typical for their relationship. Draco was never much of a “people person” and left most interactions with strangers up to Hermione when they were together. It made him different from other men who felt the need to always lead a woman, but Draco’s preference was well suited to Hermione’s own personality. Besides, he took the lead in other endeavors of theirs.

The table the waiter lead them to was in the back of the restaurant, against a window that looked out towards the street on the other side of the block, rain gently tapping against the glass as Draco smoothly helped Hermione into her seat. The Malfoy family upbringing had its flaws, but the impeccable manners sure were nice sometimes. He found his place across from her and ordered them some wine as her eyes swept the menu.

There were homemade pastas, roasted lamb and duck, fresh chef salads that she knew had to be made from some rooftop garden. Hermione’s finger absently ran down the page as she scanned the risotto and fish selections.

~

A particularly loud stomach growl interrupted Pansy’s concentration as a bashful Harry rested a hand on his stomach, “I think we need something a bit more substantial than biscuits. Excuse me.” Harry smoothly left the table to make his way to the front counter, presumably to check the cafe’s menu.

Pansy instinctively glanced to Ginny and the girls shared a look that seemed to say ‘ _typical_ ’. Reaffirmed, Pansy continued her story.

~

The waiter returned with their white wine and took their orders before bustling away and leaving them in comfortable silence. It wasn’t unusual for the two of them, even if it had taken Hermione a while to get used to it. Another memory resurfaced as she glanced over at Draco’s profile, chin caught in his long fingers as he looked out the window at the people making their way through the rain. It had been during what should have been their seventh year at Hogwarts, a moment of brief peace between the endless string of skirmishes that seemed to make up the war. They had both been staying in an Order safehouse in Cardiff with several younger recruits, the two of them tasked with leading an expedition along the coastline to disrupt a Death Eater-protected port where they were importing supplies to help sustain their army.

It was the night before the mission was to take place and Hermione couldn’t sleep, instead deciding to walk through the empty, run down house to the kitchen for some tea. It took her a few steps to realize Draco was there as well, deathly still and turned away from her, arms crossed over his chest as he stared out the back window at the rain. Spread out on the large table before him were all manner of maps and papers and scribbled notes; he was going over the mission plan for tomorrow. Adjusting, revising, and--Hermione could read by the set of his shoulder’s and the tenseness in his jaw without even seeing his face—agonizing over his decisions.

That last observation is what killed her impulse to say something, in fear of interrupting his train of thought. Instead, she clamped down on her usually chatty tongue and went about making tea, placing a steaming mug in front of Draco and sitting down at the other side of the table to cradle her own as she joining him silently in watching the rain stream down the back window. They lost two young Order members the next day and Hermione had watched it weigh a heavy silence on Draco’s shoulders.

~

A rueful Harry sat back down at the table with a plate full of sandwiches and a finger to his lips, “Don’t stop on account of me.” He grinned as the other two boys immediately reached for food.

~

Hermione blinked out of her memories as delicious plates were placed in front of them and they ate together, the silence punctuated only by brief inquiries about Draco’s truncated Auror mission; it was uneventful, there were no traces of the V-symp faction, yes his partner Theodore Nott was still seeing that Ravenclaw healer from St. Mungo’s, and yes they would all have to go out for drinks when the two of them got back home.

“And your meeting today?” Draco asked as the empty plates were taken away and glasses of wine refilled.

“It went well.” Hermione said, with a proud smile, tapping a nail against the stem of her glass, “The Italian offices agreed that their practices were outdated and were _more_ than happy to learn about the revised procedure I had presented about Illegal Magical Beast Trade at the conference last month. The presentation that the Minister fawned over?”

Her preening elicited a smile from Draco as he reached across the table and brushed his fingertips against the hand she had rested on the wine glass. His fingers lingered, smoothing lightly back and forth across her knuckles to soften his insult,

“Such a brown-nosing Gryffindor.” He chided with a crooked smirk.

“Jealous Slytherin.” She responded, reaching forward with her other hand to trap his fingers between hers, rubbing circles against the pads of his calloused, nimble hand as she held it.

“You’ve come a long way, Granger.” The complement immediately brought heat to her cheeks and despite her comfort in their long relationship, she still found herself shyly looking down at his hand, unable to meet the man’s eyes, “And so have I. Mostly, with your help.”

Her eyes fluttered up to his face in surprise at his admittance, but were distracted by his other hand which passed a fist across the table towards her, setting a small black box next to their entwined hands.

~

“Oooooh!” Ginny couldn’t help but squeal, as she brought light fingertips to press against her mouth in an attempt to contain her reaction, “So sweet!” She squeaked despite herself, glancing over at an unhappy Draco.

“That is not what I would say.” He deadpanned.

“That is so what you would say.” Pansy countered, “I’ve known you for _years_ , Draco.”

“I mean, it’s not wrong.” Harry gestured at Draco with a sandwich as the blonde grimaced and brushed invisible crumbs off his arm, “But he should get down on one knee.”

“I would _not_ \--” Draco was cut off by Pansy waving her hands between them,

“No! This is what _I_ think Draco should do, ok?”

“Wait what if--” Blaise started but was cut off again.

“Shhh! My turn! You can go next.” Pansy silenced him with a wave of her hand.

~

Immediately, Hermione felt tears blur her vision as it locked onto the black box, and Draco extracted his hand from hers briefly to open it, revealing a rather large almond-shaped diamond, inset on the sides with yellow and green gemstones. He reached back out to hold her left hand as he spoke,

“I know my family doesn’t have the best . . . _history_ , but this ring has been passed down for centuries. My mother wore it for many years.” Hermione looked up at the emotion that was edging out in Draco’s speech. His eyes were locked onto hers, his face calm, but there was a wavering in his voice. She knew how much his mother meant to him and how hard he fought to protect her during and after the war. Her death a year ago had been the most ruined she had ever seen Draco. This ring . . . new tears welled up in her eyes.

“She would have wanted me to give it to someone special.” He said after pausing to compose himself and clear his throat. His eyes dipped down to the ring as he carefully pulled it out from the box’s black velvet folds, before locking back onto hers. He gave her hand a squeeze,

“You are that someone special, Hermione.” She felt the chord hum between them.

“Yes.” She said, tears spilling over as she brought a hand to her mouth, “Draco, yes.”

He carefully slipped the ring onto her finger and it fit snugly, sparkling up at her. Her tears continued to spill as he stood up and gathered her in his arms, holding her to his chest as she got her first good look at the ring on her finger. It was like, huge.

~

Pansy winked at Ginny who nodded, smiling, “Totally huge. Hear that Draco?”

“Are you done yet?” Draco grumbled.

~

Hermione was dimly aware of the chorus of _Congratulazioni_ ’s and _Bravi_ ’s that had cropped up around them in the small restaurant, and applause soon broke out, several patrons nearby dabbing at their eyes. Hermione quickly grew embarrassed, and they sat back down after accepting celebratory champagne from the wait staff.

The moment they sat down, Draco took a hold of her left hand, admiring the ring on her finger as his sipped his champagne.

“Now you know, you really _have_ to stick by me, Number Two.” He joked, using the nickname he had goaded her with for months on the battlefield. Due to Draco’s quick mind, he had steadily risen through the ranks in the Order after defecting. Order leadership had decided that the best way to temper his cold analytics and bad reputation was with Hermione’s warm compassion, and had continually paired them up as mission leads; Hermione falling into a “Number Two” position behind Draco and taking care of the day-to-day organization while “Number One” planned the long-term strategy and fallout. On days when Draco felt like heckling Hermione—which had been most of them—he had forgone her name and referred to her only as Number Two.

“Yeah,” Hermione said with a sniff, wiping the last of her tears away as she squeezed his hand, finding that she liked the weight of the stone on her finger, “You’ve always needed me watching your back.”

Draco genuinely grinned, before bringing her hand up to kiss the backs of her fingers, “I know.”

“Good.”

The two of them sat together in the little restaurant, drinking champagne and admiring the ring on her finger for several hours; Hermione remembering the blood and dirt and ash that used to coat her hands and the man across the table from her who had been her Number One for a very long time indeed.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a second one for you all! Chapter three will go up next week.
> 
> Cheers, thanks for reading!


	3. Blaise's Turn

Pansy clapped her hands together after she had finished giving her lengthy advice, “So what do you think?”

Draco grumbled again, but Ginny cut him off, “It’s a lovely idea.”

“Very romantic.” Harry added, absently thumbing the ring on Ginny’s finger.

Blaise scoffed from where he sat between two of his oldest friends, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head, “Romantic? They didn’t even snog! You had him kiss Granger’s hand like he was Prince Charming.”

“So?” Pansy sniffed, obviously miffed. “I think Draco should consider a romantic proposal, somewhere foreign. That’s my suggestion.”

“Naw mate, I have a better idea. My turn.” The Italian said, locking eyes with his old roommate as he leaned forward. Sure Pansy and Draco had dated for a few years, which may have been part of her reluctance to describe her ex making out with Granger, but Blaise had lived with Draco. He’d been by his friend’s side before, during, and after the war, and he knew what the man was like in and out of relationships.

“Proposals have gotta be sexy, see? Here’s what you should do . . .”

~

Hermione walked into her London apartment, utterly beat. She had just gotten back from attending a conference for the Ministry in Australia, and had been forced to travel using a series of different Floo jumps, Apparating, and Portkeys to get home. That was the biggest problem with navigating bureaucratic red tape between different country’s wizarding governments—travel was hell.

She felt the pounding behind her eyes that signaled the onset of a headache and could still feel the ghosting of the hook-like sensation that accompanied a Portkey lingering behind her belly button.

Ugh.

She poked her head into the bedroom on her way past it—Draco still hadn’t returned from his own assignment with the Ministry. In the kitchen, she checked the calendar that she had hung next to the spice rack as she grabbed an apple out of the fridge. Of course Draco hadn’t added any notes to it or even circled when he’d be back. The calendar was covered in appointments and assignments in Hermione’s scrawl, but Draco’s handwriting was absent.

Typical.

Hermione stalked back to the living room, feeling the effects of her jetlag. Despite her fatigue, she was still wide awake in the middle of the night. She surveyed the magical bookcase before her with a hand on her hip, pushing the visible books into what should have been a wall while more volumes appeared on the other side like a rotating display case. The majority was, predictably, Hermione’s collection, but Draco had contributed a few from his family’s library when he’d moved in. He had been very careful not to bring over any books that were overtly prejudiced or even contained the word ‘mudblood’. At Hermione’s behest, he had donated the majority of the remaining books to the Ministry archives, and only brought over the ones that he wanted to hang onto.

The lengthy trials that had stretched on after the war had done a good job of stamping out most of the blood-status prejudice that remained in the wizarding world and thrown the truly impenitent into Azkaban. They had been thorough, so thorough in fact, that even the defectors during the war who had switched to the side of the Order and rejected their old ways had been put through the Wizengamot ringer.

Hermione bit her lip, remembering the trials after their victory over Voldemort. Celebrations after the Battle for Hogwarts had been short-lived, as many of the people she had considered her staunch comrades were whisked away to holding cells deep below the Ministry and immediately had the scrutiny of the entire wizarding world focused on them. People who she would have died for, who had protected her back, and faithfully served out her orders were suddenly deemed untrustworthy. Defectors like the Carrow twins, Hestia and Flora, who had quickly become some of Hermione’s favorites in camp due to their quick wits and ability to make light of any situation. And Adrian Pucey, who was a hell of a fighter with a knack for throwing himself in front of hexes aimed at other people.

And Draco Malfoy . . . Hermione had seen the weight of Draco’s leadership take its physical and mental toll on him—he dedicated everything to the war, against a side he had once sworn his allegiance to. A permanently tattooed symbol on his lower arm was proof of that. And as his “Number Two” Hermione was privy to seeing the rare instances where his facade slipped and the overburdened boy behind it appeared. So when the Ministry turned its distrustful eye on Draco because of how quickly he had been promoted through the ranks of Order leadership, Hermione willingly bore the burden of being his loudest defender. She had seen firsthand how hard he fought both for their side and with himself.

Hermione sighed and shook her head, blinking herself out of her reprieve. She looked back towards the bookshelf and scanned the titles of the unfamiliar books on Draco’s shelves. One in particular caught her eye, _The Theories and Practices of Alchemical Manipulation in Spellcrafting_. Excellent. If it wasn’t interesting, it’d at least put her to sleep and get her back in the right timezone.

~

“Gosh, Blaise,” Pansy teased in a comically deep voice, obviously trying to imitate him, “Don’t you think that’s an awful lot of exposition?”

“Hush, you.” Blaise scowled at her. He needed time to craft the mood for his suggestion. He leaned his elbows onto the table as he launched back into his story.

~

Hermione snagged the thick tome off the shelf and headed into the bedroom. If she was hoping that the text would put her to sleep, she needed to be at maximum comfort. Stripping down to just her lacy underwear, she slipped between the clean silken sheets of the bed she shared with the Malfoy heir.

~

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Draco growled at Blaise, unamused, “Is that an important detail?”

Blaise grinned at his best mate, “That she shares a bed with you? You two have for years!”

“Her _clothing choice_.” Draco growled lowly again. A rogue smile wormed its way across Blaise’s mouth despite himself, thinking absently that Draco needed to have another biscuit and relax.

“Part of the story, mate.” He winked, barreling onward, “Anyway . . .”

~

Once comfortably beneath her comforter and surrounded by white pillows, Hermione cracked the ledger open. It was _very_ old, that much she could tell, as the script was handwritten in partially-faded ink.

_Theories of alchemic reconstitution have long existed in the wizarding world since the early days of transfiguration. Changing an item’s base molecular compounds from one configuration to another is achievable in most basic spells, even to the extent of shifting a wizard or witches own bodily molecular structures (see: animagus’ and metamorphagus’, pg.376). We can see examples of molecular reconstitution in ancient records of . . ._

But Hermione’s mind invariably kept slipping back into her memories. During the war, as Hermione and the other Order members bumped from safehouse to safehouse between missions, there had been a rare metamorphagus in their midst. The girl was a Gryffindor named Hephestius Arch, and a year above Hermione. She had been good mates with the Weasley twins and after the death of Fred her hair had taken on a permanent orange sheen to it. She had a habit of transforming herself into an older male and infiltrating Death Eater camps to gather information, whether she was ordered to or not.

As part of leadership, Draco had used her skills to the Order’s advantage and Hephestius had brought back valuable information saving hundreds of lives and turning the tides of several battles—until she was found out and struck down by the killing curse during an infiltration of hers towards the end of the war. The Death Eaters had been desperately stepping up their security during those last few months, scrambling to retain their iron-fisted control of the wizarding world. Draco had taken the metamorphagus’ death particularly hard, and the Ministry had raked him over the coals for it in the trials, accusing him of offering her up to the Death Eaters.

Hermione’s knuckles turned white at the memory as she gripped the book in her lap, it’s pages forgotten to her. The Ministry had tried to blame Draco for placing the rare metamorphagus in harm’s way; that he was trying to deliver a member of the Order who know valuable strategic information over to the Death Eaters so she could be purposefully caught and tortured. Hermione had already been incised that the Ministry’s war prosecutor was digging deep into the minutia of Draco’s battle strategy, but the fact that they were using the death of a friend against him? It had made Hermione see red.

It had been one of dozens, maybe hundreds of Wizengamot trials she had been to—her attendance fueled by her sense of Gryffindor justice to exonerate the heroes she had stood shoulder to shoulder with on battlefields against the Death Eater army. And there was no one she had spent more time with during the war than Draco, as his “Number Two”. She had been separated from Harry and Ron at the beginning of the war; the Gryffindor Trio had been assigned to different missions and safehouses in an effort by Order leadership to make sure that each mission had a clear and dedicated commander.

So when the Ministry prosecutor had accused Draco of premeditated treason and conspiracy against the Order’s rebellion through the death of a comrade, Hermione had—quite literally— seen red. She hadn’t even realized the cry she had let out in indignation at the ludicrous accusation until all eyes of the courthouse had rounded on her. There was only one pair of eyes that she noticed though; the blonde that sat in the lone accusatory seat, off to the side of the gathered Wizengamot jury so they could appraise him as they mulled over their judgment. Draco’s cool grey eyes raised to hers through lowered lids, locking on as the red in her vision dissipated until she was awash with his stormy greys.

Those eyes of his had cut her to the center of her being during that Wizengamot session and she had been unable to look away, even as George reached across his younger sister to hold Hermione’s hand when the prosecution had described Hephestius’ torture and death.

Even now, in the bed of her London apartment, when Hermione shivered at the memory of his gaze.

She had given her own impassioned testimony in defense of Draco’s decision-making that same chilly November morning, her voice unwavering and her conviction absolute—yet ever-aware of that cloudy-grey gaze that refused to leave her face. The thought of his eyes on her that day, the undivided focus across the length of the courtroom, the heat that seemed to track her every movement in a constant simmer, reminding her of his attention . . . she felt a line burn to her core, flushing her chest and making her cheeks burn.

Draco had been silent through the proceedings, even as Ginny squeezed her hand when the Wizengamot absolved him of Hephestius’ death and scheduled a reconvening of the trial to judge Draco on his _next_ accusation. He had been lead past the small group of Griffindors, eyes still narrowed in on Hermione’s. She had met his gaze then, reading the heat in his intent, the heat she felt now between her thighs.

~

In the coffee shop, Draco’s still-grey eyes flashed in warning at Blaise, “If you’re about to describe what I think you’re about to describe--”

“I told you it’d be sexy, mate.” Blaise grinned wolfishly. Draco was utterly unamused, and Harry had seemed to flush an odd shade of pink. Ginny shot a guilty glance over at Draco.

“I remember that day.” She murmured, “The Ministry was cruel to you.”

“Aye.” Blaise agreed, his own memories of lengthy trials and incarceration at the hand of the Ministry swirling about his mind. He defected not long after Draco, and while he hadn’t risen to the same levels of leadership as his friend, he had not escaped the scrutiny of the Wizengamot either, “They were.”

~

Book forgotten, cheeks heated, Hermione slipped her hand under the comforter, trailing down her stomach to her burning core, the memory of Draco’s gaze appearing vividly behind her eyelids as they fluttered closed.

~

“Zabini. I am _right_ here.” Draco said through gritted teeth, crossing his arms in a motion that said he’d love nothing more than to throttle his best friend. Harry coughed pointedly and Pansy shot the Italian a warning glance, not wanting the blonde to walk out on her carefully-convened meeting. Blaise at least had the decency to look chagrined,

“All right, all right . . .” He conceded, sighing dramatically, “You guys are no fun.”

~

Hermione uh, _read_ to herself just then, from the thick book splayed open across her lap, absently licking her finger and thumbing the pages as she turned them slowly, deeply engrossed in the text. The book was rich and full of information as her eyes swept across the lines hungrily, pulling from it arcane knowledge that she would dedicatedly memorize and store away for future divulgence, preferably towards a partner who needed instruction on how to best utilize the information she had gathered.

~

“Is that better?” Blaise asked, as he fought another smirk creeping up his cheek. Draco glowered at him.

“Oh _Salazar_ , just hurry it up.” Pansy rolled her eyes.

~

Hermione sighed, feeling the weight of the book in her lap. It was hardback, with old thread bindings—no doubt sewn by hand—and she could feel the weight of it press into her thighs and against her hips as she ran her finger lightly across the lines as she read. Her nail gently brushed across the paper as she went, not wanting to mar or disturb the old pages, and so her touch was soft but insistent. Her fingers seemed to lap up the knowledge at the same time that her eyes swept across the page, never far behind each other.

Hermione pressed back against the pillows, feeling the exhaustion of her trip finally begin to settle in, even as her eyes and finger still swept across the pages. Steadily, she read through slightly blurring vision, blinking back against her tiredness. The book was engrossing and although it had been a while since she had found a quiet moment just to sit and uh, _read_ , she was glad for it and vowed to carve out some more _reading_ time for herself in the future.

Her breath hitched as she reached a particularly engrossing part in the text, and her finger sweeping faster and faster across the lines of text. Her focus narrowed into the space just above her nail as she drank in the words quickly speeding past her, getting closer and closer to the bottom of the page as she went. Her eyes swept across the paper so fast she thought she’d go cross-eyed, but her years of experience researching held true and she made it to the end of the chapter in a rush, finger skidding to a halt as her eyes dipped closed.

“Ahh . . .” The contented sigh left her lips as the feeling of uh, _gained knowledge_ coursed through her veins. She felt drunk off the feeling as she always did, having been dedicated to studying for hours on end at the library during her school days.

“Oh.” The deep voice from the doorway shook her out of her own introspection and immediately pulled her focus from the pages spread out in front of her. Draco stood in the open doorway to the bedroom, hair disheveled, duffle bag half-slid off his shoulder, eyes ablaze and fixated on the book that laid open on her lap. Hermione’s cheeks prickled as his gaze slid up to hers, just as heated as she remembered them from years ago in the Wizengamot courtroom.

“I was reading.” She murmured, drinking in his tall, taunt form through _knowledge_ -clouded eyes.

“No you weren’t.” He retorted, quickly dropping the bag at his feet and moving to place his wand on the bedside table next to hers. He deftly slid across the bed towards her, gliding across the sheets until his hands gripped the hardback sitting on her lap and his face hovered above hers.

“Welcome home.” She whispered as his lips stole down upon hers in a kiss to match the heat in his gaze. Her hands slipped up around his neck, pulling him into the fervor of the kiss, her eyes closing from the satiation of her earlier reading. His expert hands, however, were raising her intrigue yet again, as he pulled the thick book towards him.

“Shall I read to you for a bit?” He asked, voice hitting that low register at only happened when he was in an uh, _library._ Hermione shivered at his implication of furthered academia.

“Please.” she sighed, leaning back as he bent over the book, running his hands across the edges of the pages softly, his lips moving sensually as he mouthed the words aloud to her. He had such a lovely voice, and it lulled her eyelids closed until he reached a particularly interesting part in the text which had them snapping back open and meeting his unwavering greys, deep with newfound _information_.

Her own honey-brown eyes widened in understanding of the _information_ that he passed onto her, his mouth forming word after word as he read to her. It was fascinating, really, and his attention was utterly undivided as he skimmed across the page with practiced ease. Draco was an expert reader, and Hermione reaped the benefits of his attention.

His attention was what had burned through her during the Wizengamot trials, with Draco on the stand, silent and intent upon her. She hadn’t been allowed to speak to him during the litigations as he’d been a prisoner of the Ministry, and it had been months of testimony and court proceedings until Hermione had found herself finally alone in Draco’s presence. He had been acquitted of taking the Dark Mark as none other than the war hero Harry Potter—at Hermione’s behest—had taken the stand to defend his childhood rival and explain the extenuating circumstances behind their sixth year at Hogwarts.

Draco was nearing the end of his trials, as the wartime prosecution was digging far back in the pureblood heir’s history, desperate to pin a crime on him. Hermione could yet again sense the weight of his gaze as they met each other in the empty hallway of the Wizengamot dungeons below the Ministry. He was in magically restrained shackles as he had been for the duration of the trials, and she found herself unable to meet his stare.

“Why.” He asked, flatly, finally pulling her eyes up to his and finding sharp anger there, “Why are you defending me so vehemently?”

It wasn’t the question she had expected, but she found herself answering it easily, “Because it’s my turn to fight for you.”

His face contorted in declination, but she abruptly held up a hand to cut him off, “No, Malfoy. You spent months fighting for _us_ , your subordinates in the Order. You went through personal hell to save us from _physical_ hell. You don’t deserve this.” She gestured to his shackles.

A snarl still affixed to his face, he jostled the shackles on his wrists so that they clanked together as he bit out at her, “But didn’t you know, I’m a dirty double agent with a bloody Dark Mark. A prejudiced pureblood heir!”

“You don’t believe that.” Hermione murmured, holding his gaze. With trademark self-asuredness and a dose of Gryffidor boldness, she stepped closer to him, reaching out to smooth a hand across his forehead. She brushed his bangs aside and let her fingertips linger against his temple.

“Stop defending me.” He barked again, his furious gaze turned down on her.

“I won’t.” She said confidently, brushing her thumb past his blonde brow, “I won’t quit fighting for justice for you, or any of the other defectors.”

Draco’s lip curled, “ _Don’t touch me_.” He turned his face from her hand, and for the first time since the war Hermione felt her conviction waver.

“When this is all over,” Draco said lowly, still looking away, “I’m going to disappear. I’m leaving Britain. I’m leaving the ministry, the _golden boy_ Harry Potter, and this war behind me.”

“Oh.” Hermione responded, pulling her hand quickly back to her side, her voice sounding hollow even to herself.

“When they free me, I’m gone.” He repeated, slowly turning his unwavering gaze back on her, drilling into her where she stood. She felt a sick tugging in her chest then, and a sudden need to breathe fresh, non-stagnant air from the dungeons struck her.

“Yes.” She said, raising her chin, but refusing to look him in the eye, “You should go then. The Ministry’s put you through hell enough.”

“And stop defending me at trial.” Draco growled again, but Hermione was already walking past him,

“I won’t.” She repeated, her footsteps carrying her out of the dungeons and past the Ministry guards. Even when she felt his eyes boring into her back, she refused to turn around.

And now she felt his eyes bore into her for an entirely different reason, as he hit a particularly interesting part of the text on her lap, reading to her the compelling section. Hermione was so caught up in his storytelling that she gasped in surprise when his hand traveled back to the Table of Contents, easily flipping to it and running his finger down the length of page to find the reference he needed.

Her breath sped up in response to his dedication for sources, and she found herself quickly tipping over the edge of _education_ as he informed her of the correct citation, his mouth quickly forming over the words as he read to her through the end of the chapter.

“Fascinating.” She breathed, moving to caress his cheek as she spilled her own source across his hands resting on the alluring book in her lap.

~

“ _Wrap it up, Zabini_.” Draco seethed.

“I’m just suggesting you read aloud to her!” Blaise held up his hands in innocence.

“No, you’re not.” Draco scowled. Blaise winked at him and continued.

~

It was Hermione’s turn to read aloud now, and she did it just the way she knew Draco liked; softly, but with a firm tone, bent over the book that now lay in his lap. It was only a matter of time until he was nodding his head and murmuring his own observations at the end of the chapter, and he took over once again to read the passages low and close to her ear. This chapter was the most captivating yet, and had them both making their conclusions known by the end of it.

As they lay next to each other in bed, utter satiated with um, _knowledge_ , Hermione reached up and brushed her fingertips against Draco’s forehead, thumbing his brow. He closed his eyes against her touch and pulled her hips to his with an easy tug.

“It’s good to have you home.” She whispered as he blinked those grey eyes down at her.

“You know I’m never far, right?” Draco responded, his voice as low as hers. The poignant admittance brought sudden tears to her eyes,

“You have been before.” Hermione said, disquieted as her lover rolled over onto his back away from her to reach across their bed, the lack of his body heat causing her to shiver. Draco had left, after his trials ended. Just like he said he would.

“Well, never again.” The blonde rolled back, having retrieved something from the drawer of the bedside table and laying it on the pillow in front of her face. Hermione had to prop herself up on an arm to get a better look at the small box next to her, her heartbeat suddenly launching into overdrive. She looked up at him in blinking surprise, unable to speak.

“I promise.” He opened the box, revealing a circular, multi-faceted diamond ring set in a simple band.

~

“And encrusted in diamonds.” Pansy loudly whispered to Blaise as across the table as he rolled his eyes.

~

“I promise.” Draco opened the box, revealing a circular, multi-faceted diamond ring set in a band also encrusted in diamonds, like so many. Tears silently fell down Hermione’s cheeks as Draco continued to talk, picking the ring out of the box, “The diamond’s centuries-old, an inheritance from my family’s collection, but the setting--”

He looked up into her eyes steadily, a grey fire burning in their depths, “The setting and band are new. Stronger than before. It’ll stand the test of time, if you’ll let it.”

~

“Well that’s a blatant metaphor.” Ginny mused with a wry smile, arms crossed as she listened.

“Hey, look, I’m coming up with this on the spot, okay?” Blaise grumbled in irritation.

~

As Draco spoke, he held out a waiting hand to Hermione, “Will you let it, Granger?”

Releasing a choked sob, the brunette threw her arms around Draco’s neck, nodding furiously into his chest, “Yes! Godric, yes!”

Hermione quickly dried her eyes as he slipped the ring onto her left hand where it sparkled brilliantly, “It’s beautiful.”

“You know what else is beautiful?” He asked, softly kissing her hairline, “ _Reading_. Where did that book go?”

Hermione giggled as she pulled the thick book back into her lap, relishing the sight of the new jewelry on her ring finger, “Come here, _fiancee_. Read to me some more tonight.”

Draco was more than happy to comply as he tossed the empty ring box behind him, hungrily leaning over the tome she held open. They took turns reading to each other throughout the night, knowing exactly what the other liked to hear, and didn’t slow down until their eyes were blurry and Hermione finally lay her head down on her fiancee's shoulder. Stretching her left hand out across his chest, she admired her ring again, thrilled to have found a man just as enthusiastic about late-night reading sessions as she.

~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, this chapter is reason for the M rating. It was fun to write ;)
> 
> Thanks for sticking around. And thanks for the kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks! They make my day!
> 
> Thanks again to my beta, Chromat1cs. Chapter 4 will be up in a week!


	4. Ginny's Turn

#### Chapter 4: Ginny's Turn

 

“Are you _quite finished_?” Draco hissed through his teeth, looking utterly uncomfortable as Blaise grinned proudly. Ginny rolled her eyes, but had to admit an antsy Draco was an unfamiliar and amusing sight.

“I am! You should read to her, mate. Slowly. All night. In bed. And with a _real_ sexy voice. But minus all the actual book shite--”

“We get it.” Pansy intoned, drumming her fingers on the table in what felt like a dark warning as Harry nervously coughed into his hand again.

“What’s with all the crying, too?” Ginny asked, hand unconsciously resting on her hip despite being seated, “Not all girls cry at a proposal.”

“You cried at our proposal.” Harry grinned, holding up their entwined hands to show off her ring as if it were proof.

“ _Not all girls cry at a proposal._ ” Ginny reiterated, flushing in embarrassment and quickly tugging her and Harry’s hands back down.

“Look Zabini, you might know Malfoy, but _I_ know Hermione.” Ginny stated, all business as she leaned forward to address the other Slytherins, “And I have a better proposal suggestion.”

~

Hermione pushed open the door of her temporary lodgings in Bucharest, Romania, tired and ready to crash. She had spent a whirlwind week at a European wizarding summit at the Romanian Ministry, speaking with dignitaries and government officials from across the continent about standardizing laws and practices when it came to the treatment of magical creatures.

It helped to have attended the summit with Charlie Weasley—world-redound dragon expert and old friend—his first hand accounts about caring for dragons had been her secret weapon during her lengthy presentations, keeping the audience in rapt attention. Hermione had survived the week purely on nervous energy and by leeching off of Charlie’s infectious enthusiasm for oversized, fire-breathing lizards, but now that the last hands had been shook and final business cards exchanged, she felt the exhaustion begin to seep into her bones.

The first thing she did was kick off her shoes. The damn heels had left her with blisters after hour 2, but had also made her look like a name-taking badass, so she had worn them the rest of the day, regardless of the pain. Now, though, she was happy to discard them and flop unceremoniously across the couch in her little hotel suite. Finally off her feet, she began pulling the bobby pins from her hair, unwinding the tight bun she had kept her mane in and relishing in the feeling of letting her hair down after a long day.

Tomorrow she would be heading back to London to take a day or two off, then begin compiling her report for the Minister, following up on the leads and business relationships she had established, debriefing her coworkers in the RCMC department, sending a thank you basket to Charlie—maybe a second basket to Molly as an apology for missing Ron’s birthday dinner the other week. Hermione had already mailed Ron his gift and a card, to which there had of course been no reply. She hadn’t been expected to attend but still felt bad about missing it and should drop Molly a line anyway--

The fireplace across the room roared to life with green flames, pulling her from her thoughts. She sat up quickly, recognizing the face that peered out at her through the Floo-green fire.

“Katie?” Katie Bell’s head floated in the middle of the hearth.

~

“Katie Bell . . . why does that name sound familiar?” Pansy asked, tilting her head as she tapped a nail against her lip.

“Yea high, Gryffindor, Chaser on the Quidditch team?” Ginny supplied, holding up her hand to about Katie’s height.

“Oi, Marcus Flint had quite a crush on ‘er. Switches sides for Bell during the war, I think.” Blake chuckled, shaking his head.

“He did?!” Ginny’s eyes went wide at the gossip.

“Oh! was she always running around with two other blonde Gryffindor girls?” Pansy held up two fingers as she spoke.

“Yes! Angelina and Alicia!” Ginny caught herself smiling, remembering how inseparable the three upperclassmen girls were, “They were always--”

Harry cut her off before she launched into a tangent, giving his wife’s hand a squeeze, “Your suggestion, dear.”

“Oh, right.”

~

“Oh, right.” Katie said as harmless green flames licked at her cheeks. Her hair was pulled back out of her face, and she peered across the room at Hermione through large, wire-frame glasses, “Hermione, are you there? Message from the Ministry!”

“Over here!” She said, quickly crossing the room to the fireplace and crouching in front of it as Katie blinked up at her. Despite Katie’s overall green-tinted pallor and the wispiness of her Floo-form, Hermione could tell the woman was nervous. She was chewing on her lip and several locks of hair were escaping her bun as her eyes darted around Hermione’s face.

“Message from the Ministry. There’s--” Katie repeated, cutting herself off as she looked down, presumably at the desk in front of her.

A slick, sick sensation ran down the back of Hermione’s spine like a cold trickle of water, raising the hairs on the back of her neck and she knew something was wrong in a sudden sixth-sense awareness. The cold feeling of dread wasn’t unfamiliar to her, but she hadn’t felt it since the Battle for Hogwarts, moments before she had yanked Ginny Weasley out of the way of a _Sectumsempra_ meant for her throat. Not since she had turned, shielding the younger Gryffindor behind her and found herself on the smoking end of Lucius Malfoy’s wand, another cutting curse readying on his smirking lips.

That’s when Draco Malfoy had struck down his own father with an _Avada_ , grave-pale and shaking, still holding his wand aloft as he emerged from the shadows to their left. He stared at the broken body of the Death Eater who had raised him, half-embedded in a cracked stone wall due to the vitriolic force behind the killing spell. Hermione held his gaze as her hand closed around his wrist, lowering his wand which was still sputtering sparks of green in rioting emotion.

“My . . . _fuck--_ he--he was . . .” Draco’s eyes darted across her face as if searching for the next word, the sentence dead on his lips.

“Shhh.” Hermione murmured, immediately wanting to help him or hold him, the dual urges rising quickly in her chest before sense took a hold of her. The brunette shook her head sharply—it wasn’t the time for that, it was never the time for that—and she tugged both Draco and Ginny back into the dark recesses of the school, dodging a renewed volley of spells from the approaching Death Eaters. They walked in hurried silence through empty corridors unwitting of the violence about to befall their grounds and had almost arrived back at the Order’s rendezvous point when Draco spoke again near Hermione’s ear, his voice rasping and lined with a manic edge,

“ _He raised his wand against you_.”

“ _Katie_.” Hermione urged, wide awake and on-edge, all thoughts of earlier exhaustion squashed. The Gryffindor looked back up at her with wide eyes, readjusting her glasses,

“Yes! Sorry. Yes, this is a very unusual request, but there’s an emergency and Harry—er--Auror Potter is calling for all hands on deck.” Katie still wasn’t meeting her eyes. Hermione suppressed the urge to reach through the Floo and yank the papers from the other woman’s hands.

“Two Aurors were sent on a very sensitive assignment near Bucharest, and they didn’t check in with Harr—Auror Potter this evening during their scheduled coin press. Due to the nature of the assignment contact with the Ministry has been kept to a minimum, but the Aurors were supposed to let Potter know everything was going as planned by pressing their thumbprints to a charmed knut each evening at 5pm. They missed tonight’s check in, which means they’ve been compromised.” Katie began to shift nervously again, her head bobbing under the mantle.

“More Aurors are being reassigned to provide backup, but you’re currently the closest Ministry official who has dueling training—maybe more than most Aurors—and Auror Potter can’t wait for paperwork to clear and needs someone to check on them ASAP.” Katie still wouldn’t meet Hermione’s eyes. Another shiver trickled down her arms,

“ _Who_ are the Aurors in trouble, Katie.” She demanded.

“They—the Aurors were assigned to check on a nest of V-symps.” Katie stumbled on, her glasses sliding down her nose as she shuffled the papers in front of her, “It was—they were supposed to monitor them and collect intel to relay to us when their assignment finished, nothing more. We don’t have any information other than its a group of 3 to 5 V-symps who—who fled after the war.”

“ _Katie_.” Hermione practically growled.

“It was—Aurors Nott and Malfoy.” Cool ice gripped the back of Hermione’s neck.

“And you—you have the training.” Katie repeated, finishing weakly.

Of course she had more dueling training than most Aurors, all of Hermione’s training had been hands-on, during the war, countering actual spells intended to kill her. You can’t simulate that in a class. And she had tried to. She used to teach dueling classes at the Ministry to incoming Aurors, as a part of a training regiment that Harry set up when he became Head Auror and overhauled the program.

Hermione had been in the middle of a class, instructing new Aurors how to wandlessly cast a _Protego_ , when Malfoy had walked back into her life. She saw his tall form standing at the doorway through the blue haze that the protective charm cast on the outside world, and for a moment thought his appearance was just a trick of the light filtering in through her spell. When she dropped it a moment later and the blonde heir was still standing in the classroom doorway, she knew it was actually him. Draco had returned from his self-imposed year of exile.

Her hands began to tremble.

“Got one last student for you, ‘Mione. Our newest Auror recruit.” Harry had said briskly, walking into the classroom and beckoning over his shoulder for Draco to follow. Hermione had been so fixated on the fact that Draco refused to meet her eyes she hadn’t even noticed her best friend standing behind him.

Draco silently took his place in the line of Auror trainees before her, the students regarding their new peer with various levels of curiosity and distaste. Harry readjusted his glasses in that boyish way he had yet to grow out of, and turned back to Hermione, a self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips, “Well, don’t let me interrupt! Carry on.”

“R-right. Right. Malfoy--” Hermione’s voice sounded far away from herself, and she watched as Draco flinched when she said his name. She could feel the trembling move from her hands up her arms and fisted her hands tightly, holding it together. The last time she had spoken to Draco he had been in shackles and promising to leave Wizarding Britain behind him forever. Had Harry had a hand in his return?

~

At the table, Harry and Draco shared a silent look of communication.

“I’ll never tell.” Harry grinned, raising a teasing finger to his lips as Draco rolled his eyes.

Ginny grinned, remembering that year after the war trials when Harry and Draco had become rather dodgy penpals, owling each other every few weeks. No doubt it was Harry who had started the correspondence, and Ginny only knew of it because they had moved in together shortly after the war and her then-fiance had to explain who was sending letters and howlers at odd hours of the night.

~

Hermione could yell at Harry later about this little surprise. Or hug him. Or hex him. Or cry--

“Wandless _Protego_ , was it?” Harry prompted helpfully from off to the side, silencing several students who had begun whispering amongst themselves. “Impressive technique. Your signature spell, if I remember correctly.”

“It is.” Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts. She would definitely _Tarantallegra_ Harry later for this. She held her bare hand upwards in a defensive position as she faced her students,

“Malfoy.” She tried again, addressing her newest charge as she grew increasingly agitated with how he _still_ _wouldn’t look at her_ , “Try throwing a jinx at me—and everyone watch the hand motion I make for the _Protego_.”

There was a pause before Draco hissed through gritted teeth, “I—I _can’t_.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Hermione spat, her own anger boiling over. A year. A year of silence from the man she had fought back-to-back with on the battlefield, had pulled out of wrongful Ministry imprisonment, had spent nights lying awake wondering if he was even _alive—_

Draco looked away sharply, teeth working the inside of his cheek as his brows furrowed, “I bloody can’t point my wand at you, Granger.”

“What--” Hermione’s question died in her throat as she looked down at the wand in his hand, even Harry moving close for a better view. The enchanted hawthorn wood was vibrating wildly as Draco clutched at it, the tip of the wooden rod swerving to avoid being directed at Hermione as if she and the wand were made of opposing magnetic forces.

Draco muttered a curse under his breath, grabbing at his wrist with his free hand and yanking his shaking limb away from Hermione, immediately stopping the tremors. Perspiration beaded at his temples from the effort of holding the wand towards her and he panted slightly, finally meeting her eyes, “I haven’t been able to for a long time.”

Hermione’s recollection of their reunion lasted only for a second before she spun away from the fireplace, her back an icy sheet. Draco and Nott were staking out a V-symp nest somewhere in the city she had spent the past week giving talks about Harpies and Hippogriffs in. Draco and Nott hadn’t checked in with the Ministry today. Draco and Nott were outnumbered.

She found herself moving across the apartment, automatically pulling on the worn combat boots she could never bring herself to leave at home and coiling her hair back onto her head in a tight bun. Katie’s pained face still floated in the fireplace, biting her lip as Hermione robotically tugged on a heavy canvas jacket.

“Where are they.” She asked, her voice flat, the chill creeping into her throat.

“It’s—It’s a Ministry flat Aurors use when they’re on assignment. It’s charmed so no one can tell it’s there.” Katie shuffled a few papers before relaying to Hermione the directions and counter-wards so that she could get into it.

Not five minutes later Hermione was out the door, leaving Katie’s head sighing in the fireplace before pulling backwards and letting the green flames die.

Hermione hurried through the streets, her wand slipped up her sleeve, taking as many shortcuts as she could to get across town. She easily hefted herself over fences, stealthily cut through restaurant kitchens, and charmed a few muggles to forget they even noticed her, her Gryffindor sensibilities about such actions taking a back seat to the urgency of the task at hand. Surviving a war had tilted several of her morals.

And now she stood next to some dumpsters in the damp back alley of a mid-tier muggle hotel, looking up at the mostly-blank brick and concrete wall. It was dotted with a few windows and cable lines leading up to a flat gravel roof with a water tower on top. Hermione squinted, noticing the pigeons that dotted the surrounding rooftops and yet were mysteriously absent from the hotel in front of her. And there, at the top of the building’s side, right below the lip of the roof was an ornately carved “M”. Ministry building.

Hermione raised her wand, muttering the counter-wards Katie had relayed to her, and throwing a few custom charms into the mix that she had developed during the war. Specifically, a rather complicated one she had needed Bill Weasley’s help with that kept the creator of the wards from realizing that they’d been broken.

Sure enough the air above the hotel’s roof shimmered and revealed a penthouse suite with a balcony and peaked roof. With a flick of her wand she lowered the ladder of a nearby fire escape and climbed up to the penthouse hideout, slipping in through the ajar sliding door.

The suite that she carefully canvassed, wand held aloft and ready to stun, looked lived-in but not trashed. A pair of men’s slacks and The Daily Prophet sat in the living room, a few empty takeaway containers on the kitchen’s counter, and the two bedrooms and bathrooms were equally as devoid as life as the rest of the penthouse. A door at the opposite end of the suite lead out into a little landing and elevator, no doubt charmed to hide the top floor from muggles and non-Ministry wizards.

She could immediately tell which of the two was Draco’s room; his suitcase sat in one corner, a vial of Drought for Dreamless Sleep on the bedside table, and . . . she paused, sliding her hand along the top of the chest of drawers to the right of the door. Odd. Empty.

Usually, in a defensive habit borne of combat and restless nights, Draco opted to keep a custom potion brew near the doorway of wherever he slept. It was the Malfoy Special “Skele-GrOhNo”, a twist on the medicinal Skele-Gro that caused the afflicted’s bones to grow at an alarming rate through their own muscle, freezing them in place. It was horrific, but had saved Order member’s hides several times when their safe houses were raided in the middle of the night during the war.

~

“Aye, that was a powerful potion. Got any more of it?” Blaise asked cheekily, elbowing Draco lightly in the side.

“Draco’s Skele-GrOhNo is now considered a controlled substance by the Ministry.” Harry automatically answered, as if his Head Auror status compelled him to.

“Yes,” Draco drawled, gesturing carelessly towards Harry, “Like the Boy Who Brown-nosed said, the Ministry has got my stirring spoon on a tight leash these days.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Pansy mused, swiping a cookie off the plate in front of them.

“Yeah Hermione gave me one of those droughts you brewed her for menstrual cramps. Good Godric, Malfoy, it really works.” Ginny added.

“She gave you one, did she?” Draco’s features were controlled but his usually porcelain face flushed with pink. Blaise tilted his head back to laugh loudly, causing some of the cafe’s other patrons to look over in alarm.

“Oi, y-you’re--” Blaise managed between laughs, “You went from brewing bombs for the war front to concocting pretty potions for chicks on the rag—OW!”

Pansy had apparently slammed her heel down hard on Blaise’s toes under the table, “ _Enough_ , Blaise. Menstrual pain is no laughing matter. A drought like that would do a lot of women _a lot_ of good.”

Ginny nodded in solidarity across the table.

“Are you sure that’s all you’re brewing?” Harry leaned over suspiciously, causing Draco to push him back into Ginny’s side by his forehead.

“ _Yes, mother_.” He waved at the redhead, “Continue. Please. And remind me to have a word with Granger later about peddling my potions. Apparently I’m dating a dealer.”

~

And Draco’s vial was gone.

Hermione had kept an iron grip on her emotions until now, standing in the middle of Draco’s room in the abandoned Ministry hideout, as she dragged a hand over her face. Holding her palm over her eyes, she felt her fingers tremble at her temples.

_Where are you, Malfoy?_

Years ago, before her job with the RCMC Department, when she was still helping Harry overhaul the Ministry’s Auror program, she had wound up with the opposite problem. After a year of no contact, Draco had been thrust back into her life and suddenly would not leave her alone.

It was as if a year abroad had turned Draco’s smarm and mockery up to 11.

Whereas during the war Draco had been brooding and distant, now he was insufferable, unshakable. He would frequently appear out of nowhere to fall in step with her down the length of some obscure Ministry hallway while he complained about the Auror physical training regiment, folding himself into a chair across from her at lunch in the cafeteria and plucking her current book from her hands to flip through the pages and insult the muggle author, “accidentally” jinxing the wrong dueling partner in Hermione’s class when they were supposed to be practicing counter-curses—although never turning his wand against her, she had carefully avoided using Draco as a demonstration since that first day.

Hermione would frequently find him sitting in her office in the mornings, having somehow gotten past her door’s lock, feet propped up on _her_ desk, coffee in hand, ready to complain about Harry’s latest raid on his potion storage.

“Honestly, it’s like the Ministry is trying to hoard every milliliter of Lobalug venom in the Isles. By the by, you’re out of coffee.” He said, wiggling her own mug at her while she stood slack-jawed in the doorway.

At the time Hermione had been furious but now, standing in the middle of his empty hotel room, she smiled. Opening her eyes as she massaged her temples, she looked down the length of her palm to the floor and frowned. There was a crumpled slip of paper sticking out from under the chest of drawers. Quickly bending down to scoop up the paper, she unfolded it against the wood of the drawers, running a hand across it to smooth it out.

It was blank, save for a series of dots.

~

“Aaand I have to go to the bathroom.” Ginny said sheepishly standing up from the table.

“Wait, what were the dots about?!” Pansy asked as Ginny carefully squeezed herself behind her husband’s chair and aimed herself towards the bathrooms.

“A mystery . . . _for now_.” She said smiling as she flapped a noncommittal hand over her shoulder.

“How ‘bout another round of snacks, eh?” Blaise said, also standing from the table as Draco groaned, slumping in his chair and tilting his head back up at the ceiling,

“How about we just order dinner if this intervention is going to continue?”

“There, there, Malfoy,” Harry said emphatically, patting his once-rival on the shoulder, “It shouldn’t take longer than a week.”

“Well in that case Potter,” Draco said with forced gaiety, “I await with _bated_ breath.”

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half done, folks!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left a comment or kudos, especially Meg, Rin, Pins_n_Needles, and Garageghoul! Your comments really make my day :) Thank you for 'getting' my kinda wacky story.
> 
> Onwards!


	5. Ginny's Turn pt. 2

#### Chapter 5: Ginny's Turn pt. 2

  
  
“ Where was I?” Ginny asked, plopping down in her chair again as Harry slid a comfortable hand across her knee. The table in front on her had been refreshed with hot tea and a new plate of scones, Blaise and Harry already digging in to the pastries. Draco still sat with his head tilted back, as if calling upon that higher power either to give him strength or smite the others sitting at the table, Ginny couldn’t tell which.

“So . . .” Ginny said, rubbing her hands conspiratorially together,

~

“Where was I.” Hermione murmured to herself, running a finger across the crumpled paper in front of her. A series of 19 dots sat on the page, hooking sharply down before sweeping back upwards.

She recognized the symbol for what it was, an old code between her and her “Number One” that they used for communication during the war when prying eyes surrounded them on both sides. Hermione fumbled for her wand, quickly drawing it’s tip along the line of the Draco constellation, muttering the required incantation, “Gamma Draconis”.

Immediately the dots wiped away and a crude map revealed itself. Hermione was careful to keep her wand against the paper as her eyes swept the page. Luckily for the both of them, she was used to reading the chicken scratch that was a Draco Malfoy map. A snake and star in a box denoted the ministry safehouse he and Nott had been staying in, and several criss-crossed lines away from them sat a grouping of circles. One of the circles had been filled in while the remaining three were open and empty, which meant four enemies with one wounded.

Hermione memorized the directions and locations of the circles before removing her wand from the enchanted page and watching as the Draco constellation faded back onto the paper and the map disappeared. She stood up, quickly tucking the map into her back pocket as she moved back towards the fire escape. Draco had a habit of plotting out battlefields and encampments during the war, he must have done the same to the V-symp nest that he and Nott were staking out. It didn’t explain what had happened to the two Aurors, but at least it gave Hermione information on how many V-symps to expect and where to find them.

Thank Merlin for Draco’s anal-retentive diagramming habits.

~

Draco scoffed, “Those maps were brilliant and you know it. _Anal-retentive_ my ass--”

“Well that is the idea.” Pansy intoned. Ginny giggled behind her hand.

~

Thank Merlin for Draco’s utterly brilliant and so like, tide-turning diagramming habits. Hermione felt a tightening in her chest as her feet hit the pavement of the alleyway and she began jogging south, as per the astoundingly helpful map instructions. Draco had to be okay if he could just draw those amazing maps like that, like wow. Hermione thought it might be best to frame the map immediately when she got home. Like, what was Draco doing as an Auror when he could be a map maker? She would have to have a talk with the Minister about how utterly wasted Draco’s talents were tracking down dangerous criminals.

~

“ _Okay, fine._ ” Draco dragged a hand down the side of his face and glared at Ginny as Harry snickered next to him, “You are entirely your Weasel brother’s sister, did you know that.”

“And _a-thank you_.” Ginny said with flourish, rolling her wrist in a mock bow as she tilted her head towards the frustrated blonde.

~

Hermione slowed as she approached the location of the V-symp nest, as Draco’s dead-average map indicated. It was on the outskirts of a seedier part of town, surrounded by abandoned buildings and warehouses that were in disrepair and need of either demolishing or gentrification.

The building itself was an abandoned shop front with a half caved-in roof on the second story. The shop itself appeared to have some fire damage and most of its street-facing windows broken as Hermione canvassed it from her concealed position across the street. Of course she could easily spot the shimmer of wards between the iron of the broken window panes, and began weaving a counter-ward as she ducked back into the alley, approaching the V-symp hideout after circling around to its side.

She ducked into a low crouch next to the building, easily sliding back into old habits despite the years since the war. Countering the wards was easy enough and the V-symp casters would be none the wiser as Hermione slipped into the front room, carefully stepping around burnt floorboards and keeping low behind crumbled and empty display stands. She neared the back room, noticing a dingy light from under the door now that the concealment wards were down. Despite the peeling paint and soot damage, Hermione noticed the door knob itself was clean—used. Someone or someones definitely lived here.

Casting a quick _Quietus_ and disillusionment charm on herself, Hermione opened the door to reveal a small storage space and a long set of stairs leading up to the second floor. The storage space held a few boxes and canned goods, supplies for the V-symps, and she could hear voices filtering down from the floor above as she stealthily climbed the stairs.

“--We need to just get rid of them,” A young male voice continued, with the tone of someone who’s patience was wearing thin, “We need to just—throw them off a building. Somewhere. Somewhere else.”

“Throw them off a building ‘somewhere else’?” A female voice repeated, dripping with disdain, “Juvenile. Messy. No.”

“Blackmail. Blackmail is the way to go.” Supplied a gruff third voice with an accompanying slap against wood to underlay the finality of his choice.

“And your brilliant idea is to blackmail the largest wizarding governmental power in the world?” The second voice replied facetiously, “That’ll for _sure_ allow us to lie low, Fawley. Brilliant, truly.”

“Let’s just _toss them_ ,” The first voice spoke again with forced calm, “in the _river_ \--”

A fourth voice groaned and tried to speak but came out muffled, as if their mouth was full of cotton balls.

“Blackmail, Selwyn.” The gruff man, Fawley, reiterated with even more conviction, “So we can move out of this horrid hovel.”

The back and forth continued as Hermione finally reached the top of the staircase, chancing a peak in through the ajar door. On the top floor of the ruined shop was a flat; the stairs leading up into an open living space where Hermione could see four strangers arguing around a table off to her left. The gruff voice belonged to a large, imposing man seated at the middle of the table, his curled fist still resting on the wood. Across from him stood a woman in a black dress who held herself as if at one point her outfit had been the height of elegance--Selwyn. On her other side sat Rowle, a younger boy with a thin face and scruffy beard, chin in his hands and looking sullen. And at the head of the table—Hermione bit her lip, half in revulsion and half in awe.

A fourth man stood propped at the head of the table, half of his body looking crumpled and slumped, the other half appearing rigid with stone-like spiking formations erupting upwards and outwards from his skin. The stony formations were what was holding him standing upright, and he appeared to Hermione to be propped up at the table similarly to a muggle cardboard cut-out as his comrades bickered around him. He must have been the unfortunate V-symp on the receiving end of Draco’s Skele-GrOhNo, and the injured enemy depicted on the map.

As he tried to talk, Hermione could see a bony formation erupting from his jaw that effectively prevented him from speaking and his words came out an intelligible, muffled mess.

“See, even Gaunt thinks that idea is stupid. We’re in no position to bargain with the Ministry.” The elegant witch scoffed, gesturing across the room with impatience. Hermione followed the motion with her eyes through the crack in the door and bit down harder on her lip to keep from reacting. On the other side of the room sat two ruffled Ministry Aurors.

Draco and Nott were both straight-backed and ridged in mismatched chairs, magically bound to the furniture. A garish bruise bloomed against Draco’s cheek and he shot a withering glare at the conspiring V-symps, as next to him a bored Nott stared blankly up at the ceiling, stifling a sigh. Hermione chewed on her lip, judging her next move. She was faintly aware of the ex-Death Eaters still squawking.

“What bloody river do you expect us to find in Bucharest—please, Rowle, I’d love to know—”

“I—I don’t bloody know! But I’m at least offering up ideas unlike _you_ \- _-”_

“— _Salazar’s tits_ , will the two of you just shut—“

Hermione physically interrupted their plotting, kicking open the door with so much force that it bounced off the wall and made enough of a slamming ruckus to cause the V-symps to startle and fumble for their wands. As the brutalized door swung back towards her, she caught it by the knob, using the wod as a shield while she leveled her wand towards the squabbling group and fired of a quick _Petrificus_ and _Stupefy_ , catching the scruffy young Rowle in a full body-bind while the errant stunning spell exploded one of the mismatched lamps behind them.

“ _Bloody hell—”_ A series of expletives flowed from the other side of the room as Hermione ducked back behind the door, letting it take the brunt of several spells and grimacing at the _Avade_ -green glow that blew off a corner of the wooden barricade. Sparing a glance over at Draco and Nott, she slid out from behind the door again on one knee and threw another _Stuefy_ that spiraled and struck Selwyn in the middle of the chest _._ At the same time, her free hand crossed under her wand hand to flick towards the two Aurors and conjure a bubble of her specialty wandless _Protego_ around them, just in time to block another _Avade_ aimed at Nott’s still-bored expression.

~

“How very American-action-hero of you.” Pansy commented, raising her eyebrows at Ginny, who quickly reddened.

“Please,” She scoffed to cover her embarrassment, waving off the other girl’s comment, “Hermione pulled off _way_ more dramatic maneuvers during the war. She’s a dueling machine, I once saw her face against four Death Eaters and walk away with only a cut on her forehead.”

“Such a fangirl!” Pansy teased, although not unkindly. Ginny’s face became dangerously close to matching her hair as she floundered for a response.

“How do you know about American muggle action hero films, Pansy?” Harry asked, coming to his wife’s rescue. It was suddenly Pansy’s turn to blush.

“I—I, you know, see things on—hear about them in like, The Three Broomsticks.” She stammered.

“Do you now?” Harry teased and propped his fist under his chin with a sly grin, encouraging Pansy to continue as she physically recoiled from the table, pushing back in her chair.

“American-whatsit-hero?” Blaise turned to Draco in confusion.

“No idea, mate.” The blonde shrugged.

“So _anyway_ , Hermione . . .” Ginny said loudly, steering the conversation back on track.

~

Hermione dove across the room as the door was blasted apart by yet another _Avade_ , thrown by Fawley as he rose to his full height. Selwyn dropped rather inelegantly to the ground, stiff as a board thanks to Hermione’s S _tupefy_. The protective bubble around Draco and Nott held as Hermione quickly jumped back to her feet to face the ex-Death Eater that was easily twice her size and three times her weight.

“Hurruf.” Fawley spit off the side, addressing her gruffly with his wand pointed dangerously, “I didn’t realize they were hiring such small Aurors these days.”

“I’m not an Auror.” Hermione replied superciliously, slowly side-stepping in front of the two real Aurors and keeping Fawley square in her sights, “Draco, Nott, are you guys all right?”

“Peachy, love.” Draco bit out at the same time that Nott replied easily, “Never been so relaxed. Think they do parties?”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Hermione threw over her shoulder as she eyed Fawley’s rising agitation, the grip on his wand tightening.

“If you’re not an Auror, where are you from?” He asked suspiciously, glancing over at his fallen comrades.

“The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.” She sniffed, as if the answer was obvious. Using her opponent’s momentary distraction to her advantage, Hermione flicked her wand with a quick mutter of _Impedimentia_ . Fowley slashed through her spell with brute force, firing off a _Crucio_ that Hermione instinctively ducked under as it scorched through the wall behind her. Moving quickly along the perimeter of the room towards the table the V-symps had been huddled around earlier, she fired off a series of _Stupefys_ to keep the beast of a man busy.

“Enough with the immobilizing spells, Granger.” Nott inflected dryly, “This guy punched your boyfriend.”

Fowley cursed again, having to quickly summon a _Protego_ to weather the barrage of spells. As he aggressively stepped across the room towards her between impacts, Hermione swirled her wand above the broken lamp beneath her, waiting until Fowley’s shield dropped.

With a swift _Oppugno_ , Hermione sent the shards flying through the table at the V-symp, faster than he could re-summon the protective spell and the sharp ceramics slashed across his cheek and raised forearm.

“That’s more like it.” Nott drawled from across the room.

Fowley lowered his bloodied arm in cold anger, pinning Hermione with a murderous stare as he took another step closer, “Granger, eh? I know you, girl. You killed my nephew in Surrey when your lot attacked my family home.”

“Fowley? I recognize the name.” Hermione replied grimly, eyes still trained on his wand as he took another step in her direction. She needed him just a bit closer . . .

“The boy begged me not to kill him, promising to turn himself over to the Order if we’d only spare his life. He was still groveling when I _Crucio’d_ him.” She baited recklessly, hoping the larger man wouldn’t see through her lie. She hadn’t Crucio’d anyone on that mission, in reality all she remembered of that raid was freeing the dozen or so Order members held captive in the dungeons below the pureblood mansion. She’d cried when they found Lavender Brown, believing her to be dead, and although the girl was weak she had laughed and held Hermione’s wet cheeks with both hands while they Potkeyed back to a safehouse.

Without even a word, the pureblood wizard lunged towards her—just the move Hermione had been waiting for.

With calculated precision, Hermione kicked the table up in front of her, flipping it to face Fowley’s oncoming charge. She threw her shoulder into the underside of the table, further propelling it towards him as she poked her wand through one of the holes the lamp shards had made when she shot them through the wood.

“ _Impedimentia!_ ” She shouted, hearing her spell strike true as the ruined table collided with Fowley’s now-stiff body and she fell with him to the ground. Her jaw cracked sharply against the table as she landed on top of it, Fowley pinned beneath.

She took a moment to cradle her jaw, hissing in pain as she raised herself on a forearm.

“ _Granger, behind you_.”

Draco’s voice snapped her back to attention and she spun onto her back in time to avoid a hex that hit the table leg behind her and burned a hole straight through it. Gaunt—the unfortunate V-symp who had been hit with Draco’s Skele-GrOhNo—teetered towards her, leaning from one side to the other to hobble awkwardly.

“Oh for Godric’s . . .” Hermione _Impedimentia’d_ him with ease, and he toppled backwards.

Taking a moment to steady her breath, Hermione rolled herself off of the table and up onto her feet, dispelling the _Protego_ around the two Aurors at the back of the room who were still magically bound to their front-row seats.

Theo Nott—a lanky wizard who Hermione honestly believed had never been surprised in his life—for his part simply stomped his feet on the ground in lieu of clapping and commented dully, “And here comes the cavalry.”

“Hello to you to, Nott.” With a quick wave of her wand, Hermione freed the men and Draco immediately moved to step too close into her personal space, practically the Malfoy version of a hug. His eyes roved her person to assess any damages.

“Are you ok?” He murmured and Hermione felt her cheeks flush despite the lack of physical contact as she nodded.

“Lookie, lookie.” Nott said in a sing-song voice, danging both his and Draco’s wands from his fingers, having retrieved them from Selwyn’s pocket. He joined Draco and Hermione where they stood over Fowley’s still-struggling form.

“I supposed we should let Potter know we’re bringing in four V-symps. Get ready for paperwork, Theo.” Draco grumbled, swiping an agitated hand through his hair, “Let’s make sure they’re all bound and _Silencio’d_.”

Hermione nodded, raising a wand towards Fowley, catching the maddened look that glinted in his eye.

“I’ll kill you for this you little mudblood _bitch_.” Fowley spat, hitting Hermione in the chin with sticky saliva. She flinched at the prejudiced word that she’d never quite gotten used to, no matter how many times and from who she heard it.

“Mm-mmm.” Nott tsk-ed, shaking his head from side to side.

“Oh _now_ you’ve done it.” Draco commented cooly, one hand on his lapel as his other hand smoothly pointed his wand towards the struggling V-symp. His face was a mask of carefully controlled rage as he silently knocked Fowley out cold.

And in that moment, Hermione truly loved her boyfriend.

After binding and gagging the four V-symps, Draco ushered Hermione outside the building and left Nott to contact Potter through the half-ruined fireplace on the first floor.

“Are you ok?” Draco prompted again when they were alone, still scanning her for injuries, and Hermione gave him a smile as she leaned back against a brick wall in the alley next to the hideout. Despite his rumpled Auror robes and the purple bruise blooming against his cheek, he somehow still managed to look every bit the composed, self-assured Malfoy heir as he adjusted his cuffs and smoothed his hair.

“Are you? You were the captive of a group of vicious V-sympathizers for who knows how long.” Hermione teased as he glowered, stepping towards her. She slid a hand up his chest as she felt the tingling of a healing spell, the ache in her jaw disappearing. She in turn dragged a finger down his bruised cheek, casting her own wandless spell and watching as the bruise receded before her eyes.

“It was only a couple hours.” Draco mumbled, then adding with an air of hauteur, “They got the jump on us.”

“You poor Slytherins should have paid better attention in Defense against the Dark Arts.” Even as Hermione goaded him, she cupped his cheek, stroking gentle fingers along his hairline, relishing in the fact that Draco was safe and unharmed. For the first time in an hour, she felt the cold recede from her spine.

“Maybe we would have if you pathetic Gryffindors hadn’t been such easy targets for mockery.” He replied, leaning into her touch, his own fingertips brushing the back of her hand, “How did you know where to find us?”

“Katie Bell, Ministry sent me. You had Harry worried when you and Nott didn’t check in at 5.”

“Ah yes, charmed knut, the height of wizarding technology.” Hermione smiled as Draco rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Well it’s a good thing your neurotic habits die hard,” Hermione pulled the enchanted map from her back pocket to wave under his nose, “so I knew where to find you.”

“My neurotic—” Draco scoffed and caught her wrist wagging the map at him, his other arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close. He bent into her neck, brushing his nose against the soft skin under her ear, “It’s a good thing you reek of swot so I know where to find you based on smell alone.”

He gave a long, exaggerated sniff for effect that threw Hermione into a fit of giggles, her arms reaching up to wrap around the back of his neck as a memory surfaced.

It had been back in their early days at the Ministry, a few months after Draco had returned to being an insufferable, unshakable nuisance of a presence in Hermione’s life. She had been headed down a back staircase on her way from her office to the coffee cart when Draco had appeared out of practically nowhere, following down the stairs a step behind her.

“You know, I really think you’ve reached peak swot, Granger.” He said airily, hands in his pockets as Hermione grit her teeth, feeling a migraine coming on, “Those wand exercises you assigned us sound suspiciously like homework. What’s next? Reading assignments? Essays on the history of the Auror department? Forgive me, but I left my favorite quill back in—”

“ **WHAT** ,” Hermione cut him off, exploding, abruptly spinning on the stairs to glare up at his towering form two steps above her as he examined his nails, “ _What_ do you possibly want. You won’t leave me alone, Malfoy! I feel like I’m back in Hogwarts!”

He looked down at her through half lidded eyes, a wry smile slipping up his cheek, “Well we can arrange—”

“A _YEAR_ . You just waltz into my classroom after a year of silence and suddenly you’re all quips and sunshine! You _left me_ for a _year_ after we—” Oh Godric’s rod, she was really doing this now, wasn’t she? But Hermione couldn’t help it as the words bubbled up uncontrollably, Draco frozen and staring at her with wide eyes, “After all the time we spent together on the battlefield and in the courtroom and—after months of, of looking after each other during the war—and now you’re . . . you’re just _smarming it up_ like that never happened _,_ and I can’t _take it anymore!_ ”

“Oh.” Draco replied, eyes still wide as Hermione glared up at him, hands on her hips, chest heaving.

“Well,” He tried again, clearing his throat as he blinked down at her, “Hang on, you told me to leave—”

“NO I DIDN— _I DON’T CARE!_ ” Hermione yelled, cutting herself off as she felt her anger rise to dangerous levels at the gobsmacked look on Draco’s face, “There was something—something between us and you just—you just—“

“Granger, after the trials I needed—needed some time. The war was . . . confusing and it turned everything on it’s head, my life—” Draco shook his head, trying to sort his thoughts as he closed his eyes, “You turned everything in my life upside-down.”

“Great. Thanks.” Hermione snorted, turning sharply away from Draco to continue back down the stairs, “Would have been nice to know you were still alive.”

“Bloody— _wait—_ ” Draco growled, grabbing her arm to stop her. Hermione froze but indignantly refused to turn around, receiving an agitated snarl from Draco. The blonde angrily spun away from her, stomping over to the edge of the staircase instead. She peered over her shoulder as he scrubbed at his hair with his hands, seeming to struggle with himself before throwing them out to either side and proclaiming to the empty stairwell, “I’m _fucking trying_ to court you! This is me, _wooing_ you!”

“Oh.” It was Hermione’s turn to say, her anger quickly draining. Draco slowly lowered his arms and nervously turned back to face her as she rested a hand on her hip, “Well you’re shite at it. You did a better job wooing me during the war when you were covered in mud and hardly talking.”

Something sparked in Draco’s eye as he took a tentative step towards her, “But I _did_ woo you?”

Hermione’s cheeks burned as he moved into her personal space, and she rested an exploratory hand against his collarbone, his arms moving to carefully encircle her ribs, “Somewhere between the map-making and mission planning and blood, yes.”

“Hermione Granger, I’ve wanted to do this for a _very_ long time—” She closed her eyes as his face bent down towards hers in the empty stairwell.

And now, years later, standing in an alleyway next to a V-symp nest, Hermione squeezed Draco close as he laid a kiss on top of her head. The map crinkled in her hand where she pressed it against his back and she paused, an idea forming as she toyed with the paper.

“Malfoy,” She said into his chest, “How long has it been since you kissed me in the Ministry stairwell?”

“Hmm?” Draco asked, looking down at her with amusement, “Three years I think, since you said I look better covered in mud.”

“I mean, you _do,_ ” Hermione said emphatically, “but what about making this longer than three years?”

“Granger, are you breaking up with me or asking me out again? We _are_ already dating.” He quirked an eyebrow as she shook her head, pulling away.

“No—I mean, yes, we—Malfoy,” Hermione looked up at him, “what do you think of marriage?”

To his credit, Draco paused for only a second before responding, “I think that if I was going to bail on this, I would have done it long ago.” He smoothed a hand over the back of her head, “I’m in this for the long haul.”

“Good.” Hermione said smiling brightly and pulling her arms out from around him, holding up the enchanted map she had folded into a comically-large ring behind his back, the ends twisted together. Draco pulled a hand across his mouth to hiding a smile as Hermione held it up to him,

“Draco Malfoy, will you—” Draco cut her off with a kiss, his hand wrapping elegantly around hers, holding onto the paper ring together.

“Yes”, He whispered, deepening the kiss, and Hermione smiled against his lips. It might have taken them a few years, a few bruises, and a few duels to get where they were but she wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand end Ginny's turn. I've always liked action-hero Hermione fics. Chapter 6 up next week!
> 
> Thanks for the subscriptions and kudos :)
> 
> And thanks to my beta, Chromat1cs!


	6. Harry's Turn

#### Chapter 6: Harry's Turn

 

“ Nice. Power move,” Blaise said, nodding thoughtfully to Ginny around a scone, “a girl proposing is proper hot.”

“ It  _ is _ a power move,” Pansy said slowly, tapping her nail along the edge of her teacup as she chose her words, “but we are supposed to be here advising Draco about how  _ he _ can propose.”

“ Then wait until Hermione does.” Ginny told Draco with a shrug, “Or wait until she saves your arse and  _ then _ proposes.”

“ Appreciated.” Draco drawled.

“ Well, it is a rather exciting suggestion,” Harry said, squeezing his wife’s hand in support as he boyishly pushed his glasses up his nose, “but I think I have a more realistic idea.”

“ Harry James Potter, Hermione spent 9 years of her life saving  _ your  _ arse and you don’t think it’s a realistic idea she could--” Ginny began, rounding on the dark haired boy who quickly raised up his hands in defeat,

“ That’s not what I meant! I just mean that if Malfoy really is going to propose,” Harry gestured over to Draco with a toss of his wrist, “He should get the full spectrum of suggestions. Mine will just be, er—on the  _ more accessible _ side of the spectrum.”

“ Is it out of the country?” Draco asked, beginning to count off on his fingers.

“ No.” Harry replied.

“ Does it involve you describing my girlfriend in her underwear?” Draco shot Blaise another glare to which the boy grinned back unabashedly.

“ Ah, no.” Harry grimaced, his glasses slipping down as he scrunched his nose. He did  _ not _ want to think of his surrogate sister that way.

“ Does it involve me waiting for Granger to rescue me from a ring of underground ex-Death Eaters?” Draco counted off the third question on his fingers.

“ It does not.”

“ Then pass me another scone and hurry up.” Draco said with a sigh, hand outstretched as Ginny scooted the plate towards him.

“ Right, then.” Harry said, sitting up in his seat, “Let’s see.”

~

The holiday season was always Hermione’s favorite time of the year, even long before she discovered she was a witch and spent literally magical holidays at Hogwarts or the Burrow. There was just something comforting to her about the longer nights, colder temperatures, and snowy weather that made her sad every time winter warmed to spring. So she soaked up as much cold weather and holiday cheer as she could before the decorations and lights got taken down and she had to put away her coats and heavy robes until next year.

And that’s exactly what she was doing this evening, Draco having taken her out to a lovely dinner at one of the new restaurants in Diagon Alley called The Winding Wand. It was tastefully decorated for the holidays; wreaths and candles floating in front of windows, holly hung above individual tables, and enchanted snow fell from the swirling ceiling to match the weather outside, disappearing before it reached their heads. Hermione loved it.

It had been Draco’s idea for them to try out the newest wizarding establishment, and although she knew he was painfully indifferent to the holidays, she was delighted at his choice. It was only a week or so until Christmas, when she and Draco would spend the morning at his mother’s grave and then visit the Burrow for dinner, and she knew he wanted some time alone for the two of them before the holiday chaos took over. His hand had only briefly left hers during dinner when they had needed both hands to eat, the majority of the evening consisting of fingers brushing knuckles and nails tapping palms. When dinner had ended, Draco helped her back into her heavy winter robes, holding them up for her as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

“ Wait, Granger.” He said, his hands holding onto her upper arms stopped her from walking back towards the fireplace in order to Floo home. Hermione looked over her shoulder questioningly at him as he nodded towards the windows where real snow was still falling softly outside, “Fancy a walk?”

Hermione broke out into a grin, looping her arm through his as they walked outside into the wizarding neighborhood, his hand finding hers once again.

In the years since the war’s end, Diagon Alley had rebounded from its destruction and abandonment, now flourishing as new shops opened up each year. Even stores like Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour had been reopened under new management, although they kept the name in honor of it’s deceased founder. The falling snow gently building along the cobblestones in slopes completed the cozy image of the festive neighborhood as busy light spilled out from the varied shops they passed.

“ Only a few more months until what—our seventh anniversary reunion with the team at the Leaky Cauldron?” Draco asked, pausing in front of it and nudging Hermione as he gestured with his chin over at the old tavern on their right.

“ Oh, that’s right.” Hermione’s eyebrows rose in realization, “Has it really been that long?”

“ It has.” Draco murmured, running a long finger across the back of her hand absently. Draco and Hermione had a long-running tradition with their old Order teammates; on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts—the night Harry killed Voldemort and effectively won the Second Wizarding War—they would all gather at the Leaky Cauldron and get piss drunk off Ogden’s and Dragon Scale. At the end of the night Tom the barkeep would ‘forget’ large chunks of their bill, and they’d tip him graciously before stumbling into the night chanting drinking songs.

‘ Team’ was a loose term to call the group they assembled each year, since Order leadership was constantly reassigning, augmenting, and disassembling teams to fit various mission requirements. But as Numbers One and Two, Hermione and Draco considered their team to be the comrades they found themselves most-often paired with in various combinations; Lavender Brown, Adrian Pucey, George Weasley, Hestia Carrow and Flora Carrow, Seamus Finnigan, Terry Boot, Hannah Abbott, Theo Nott, and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

And before the night was done they’d take turns doing Firewhiskey shots in honor of the teammates they’d lost; Astoria Greengrass, Hephestius Arch, Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Anthony Goldstein, Susan Bones, Severus Snape, and Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was included because as George put it, “I mean, the bloke definitely died for a bit there, yea?”

~

Blaise nearly spit out his tea across the table, catching it in his cup instead as Pansy grimaced at the maneuver, “Do you lot really drink to Potter’s death?”

For the first time since he sat down in the cafe Draco smiled, albeit wryly, “We do. The Weasel-twin’s right, anyway.” His eyes flicked over to Harry, “Who told you?”

“ Hermione.” Harry shrugged indifferently, “Seems therapeutic for you guys, and after all, I’m alive now aren’t I?”

“ To Potter’s death!” Blaise toasted, raising his cup before draining it, Pansy blanching at the obvious ingestion of backwash.

~

“ Remember that first year after you had returned and could properly celebrate with us?” Hermione asked, slyly looking up at Draco. He turned green at the mere mention of the night.

“ Oh Salazar, what was that, the fourth anniversary? I can’t even look at a  _ label  _ of Gamp’s without wanting to vomit.” Draco made a face. Gamp’s Old Gregarious was a specialty beer brewed by Tom from the Leaky Cauldron and named after Ulick Gamp, the first Minister of Magic. The beer was known for being particularly disgusting, and the team had made Draco finish a glass of it to make up for missing the past three reunions—two because he had been taken into custody pending is war crimes, and one because he had disappeared off the face of the earth and by Merlin, they were going to make him pay for it.

“ That was my favorite year.” Hermione grinned before tugging Draco back into motion, passing the Leaky Cauldron. Two shops down, Draco paused again.

“ Potage’s Cauldron Shop.” He mused, looking up at the cauldron-shaped sign hanging above them, “Do you remember that year I walked in on you buying my Christmas present?”

“ Well, you liked what I got you, didn’t you?” Hermione defended herself as her face heated in remembered embarrassment.

“ Only because in the end I picked it out.” Draco smirked. For their first Christmas together, Hermione had wanted to get Draco something special, and decided on a new cauldron for brewing his potions. But she couldn’t decide which cauldron would be best and was in the shop for several hours hemming and hawing over options.

Hermione had done laps around the cauldron shop, taking stock of the wares. Not the self-stirring kind, Draco liked to be in control of the stirring. The gold pot was nice but wouldn’t really match the rest of his lab. White brass might be a good choice but is it really as durable as solid silver? Those new collapsible cauldrons would have been an option if Draco hadn’t ranted about their inanity the other day when she subtly tried to press him about his brewing preferences.

And so she had debated with herself for several hours in the store, eventually commandeering all of the shop keepers in Potage’s to assist her in deciding. That’s how Draco had found her when he meandered into the shop that evening looking to pick up a new cauldron himself, having been considering one since Hermione had mentioned it the other day. Hermione was standing in the middle of the room, a hand on her hip in thought as the various shopkeepers held cauldrons up to her, lecturing about things like volume and history.

“ Writing a research paper, are you Granger?” Draco’s voice made her jump suddenly, looking between him and the assembled shop keeps. She instantly ran through a list of excuses in her head, jaw moving wordlessly.

“ Solid pewter, silver finish. Size 5.” Draco pointed to a cauldron one of the shop keeps was holding, interrupting Hermione’s panic. He turned to walk back out the door before pausing, “Oh and throw in leather wrapping on the handle, emerald dye.”

And then with a tinkling of enchanted bells over the door, he had left Hermione only to scrub at her cheeks and sigh, “What he said. Do you all gift wrap?”

“ It’s a good pot.” Draco mused, looking down at Hermione through the falling snow, “It’s held up through a few mishaps.”

“ And that was the year you got me those enchanted bookshelves.” Hermione said, smiling fondly in remembrance.

“ They were a necessity really, after we moved in together.” Draco huffed, “I was getting tired of picking my way through a book maze when I wanted to get to the kitchen.”

“ Remember, you tried to keep the bookshelves a surprise until the very end of the evening and I was so mad because I thought all you had given me were socks?” Hermione raised an eyebrow up at him as they began walking again.

“ Ok, but the  _ socks _ ,” Draco said, gesturing emphatically with both hands, obviously having made this argument multiple times before, “Were spelled to read your body temperature and keep your toes perfectly cool or warm. If that’s not the most perfect use of magic you’ve ever heard of, I’ll go throw away my wand right now.”

“ Mmmm, maybe tracking down dangerous criminals for the Ministry is the wrong calling for you.” Hermione teased as she tugged him along, “You obviously have a  _ passion  _ for magical socks—oh hey, Florean Fortescue’s!”

It was Hermione’s turn to pull Draco to a halt in front of the rebuilt and newly opened Ice Cream Parlour, “Aww, they finally got it up and running again.”

“ Remember our first date here?” Draco prompted, squeezing her arm.

“ Ok, was  _ that _ our first date, was getting coffee at the Ministry after you kissed me on the stairwell our first date, was me bringing take away to your cell during the trials our first date, or was spending that night-watch shift together at Stradikoff during the war our first date?” Hermione prompted.

“ I  _ believe _ ,” Draco said pointedly, “That I only specifically asked you to accompany me for one of those.”

As they watched through the wide front windows of the ice cream parlour a wizarding family ordered a round of sticky toffee pudding ice cream for their three young kids and a group of Ravenclaw students poured over a stack of textbooks as their butterbeer ice creams melted. One of the employees boredly wiped down counters with a flick of their wand as two boys in the back shared a banana split, laughing and jostling each other for spoonfuls.

“ You’re intolerable.” Draco added softly after a pause, elbowing her.

“ You’re inaccurate.” Hermione replied tenderly, jabbing him back.

Inside the store, the three little kids jumped up and down as their parents passed out cones.

“ And I happen to remember that after our first date--” Draco continued, resuming their walk.

“ \-- _ Alleged  _ first date.” Hermione interrupted, receiving a glare.

“ _ Afterwards,  _ you pulled me into Flourish and Blotts where we spent twice as long looking at books.” He tilted his head towards the bookshop as they passed, “Even though I don’t think you bought any.”

“ I refuse to take offense to that.” Hermione sniffed, nose in the air as Draco chuckled and placed a kiss at her temple. They continued their relaxed stroll through the snow until Draco slowed to admire the storefront widow at Twilfitt and Tattings, displaying the latest in wizarding fashion.

“ Now that’s a set of dress robes.” Draco let out an appreciative whistle, “Imported fabric, looks like Italian.”

Hermione looked up at the male mannequin wearing a sharply-cut, dark blue suit that had a faint silvery fleur-de-lis print on it and privately wondered what about it looked Italian. Try as she might to keep up with fashion and look somewhat decent for Ministry work, Hermione was never good at it in the effortless way that Draco seemed to be instinctively drawn to style. Between his confidence and his inheritance, Hermione was pretty sure Draco could pull off just about any outfit. As much as she, Harry, and Ron had made fun of him for his preoccupation with clothes at school, Hermione couldn’t deny that dating a man who had an eye for fashion had some major positives . . . most of them to do with ogling.

“ It would look handsome on you.” Hermione mused, patting Draco’s arm with her free hand.

“ Everything looks handsome on me.” He replied reflexively and Hermione rolled her eyes, “But perhaps it is time for a new suit. The last time we were here was for Potter and the She-Weasel’s wedding.”

Back then, Hermione had hissed at Draco with an indignant hand on her hip, “ _ Malfoy.  _ I do  _ not  _ need a bespoke dress for this wedding! I have plenty of dressed already in my closet to choose from!”

“ Look.” Draco had said sharply under his breath, holding onto Hermione’s upper arm in the corner of the tailor’s shop where he had dragged her. Muslin was pinned to half his body—measurements for a new suit—and every motion he made sent little puffs of chalk dust into the air, “If I am going to have to sit through  _ hours  _ of a wedding, followed by  _ hours  _ of a dinner, before  _ hours _ of a reception, surrounded by the entire Weasel family and all of your Gryffin-bore friends,  _ I—”  _ He waved his arm at the bland muslin pinned to his side, “am going to look damn good, and  _ you _ are going to wear a fantastic dress. Clear?”

“ But—but the cost!” Hermione continued, not ready to give up the fight just yet.

“ How many times do I have to tell you; bollocks to that, I’m fucking rich. Now can we please get back to the sartorialist?” He sighed, relaxing his grip, “I will have a much easier time surviving this wedding if you look stunning. Better than the bride, even.”

Hermione still had hesitated and he gave her arm a small squeeze as the tailor and several assistants pretended not to be listening, “Please, Granger? Let me do this for you.”

That had done her in, and Hermione had allowed herself to be magically measured and poked and wrapped up for almost and hour while Draco finished getting fitted for his suit. It hadn’t been imported Italian fabric but he had looked exceedingly handsome at the wedding and she, as promised, had ended up in a fabulous dress and robes.

Although neither of them looked half as good as Ginny had, red hair curled and loose, standing at the altar in a trailing white dress—but they put up a good fight.

~

“ I’d like the record to show that I beg to differ.” Draco interjected, holding up a slim finger as Ginny planted a kiss on Harry cheek.

“ Noted.” Harry responded before continuing.

~

“ You know now that I think of it, you should wear that dress on Christmas. And every day leading up to Christmas.” Draco commented, receiving a snot from Hermione.

“ Come on . . .” They resumed their walk through the neighborhood and although it was later in the evening and the snow had picked up a bit, they were undeterred. They strolled in careful silence past Weasley’s Wizard Weezes, choosing not to stop in front of that shop. Hermione only patronized it when George was working and she doubted that Draco had ever set foot inside. His last run-in with Ron had been barely civil, and she figured neither of them was too keen for a repeat.

The next store they passed caught her eye and Hermione was happy to be dragged from her thoughts by the sight of the apothecary, “You know Malfoy, you gave me flack earlier for dragging you into Flourish and Blotts, but how often have you pulled me into Slug and Jiggers for ‘one pinch of so-and-so’?”

“ I don’t remotely sound like that.” Draco sniffed, “And at least I buy ingredients when I go here, you just go to Flourish and Blotts to look at the books.”

“ _ Because,  _ I have other books I need to finish before getting new ones! And I totally buy new books or else you wouldn’t need to have enchanted a pair of bookshelves in order to navigate our flat.” She countered.

A smile twitched at the corner of Draco’s lips, “Agree to disagree.”

He lead them back along the street and into the newest section of Diagon Alley. The neighborhood had expanded rapidly since the war, with new streets winding this way and that. They strolled nowhere in particular past freshly painted storefronts and newly-hung signs; Madame Lovelace’s Charm Shop, Jinx’s Counter-Curses and Anti-Jinxes, Enduring Enchantments Ltd., Burt and Bish’s Muggle Goods. This new section of town was much busier than the older shops, with students home on holiday running around and wizarding families checking out the newly opened establishments.

Despite the sights, Hermione found her gaze wandering over to Draco. As he turned to look at the front window of a store selling plants and herbs for brewing she traced his profile with her eyes, making a note for possibly the thousandth time of the slope of his nose and high planes of his cheekbones, the faint scar on his jaw where he had barely dodged an errant spell from a Death Eater’s wand. The snow falling on his platinum-blonde hair made the edges around him fuzzy and Hermione felt a heady rush of sudden affection for the man walking next to her as she tucked herself in closer next to him. He curled his fingers around the hand she had hooked through his arm and gave them a squeeze in response.

“ What are you thinking about?” Draco murmured quietly through the snow falling between them.

“ You.” Hermione answered honestly and he looked over in faint amusement, warmth sparking in his grey eyes.

“ What do you see for us in the future?” He asked after a few more steps, looking back out at the new shops around them tugging his coat collar up against a swirl of snow.

“ Kids.” She said firmly, after a moment of consideration and gestured to the shops around them, “We may have helped win the war, but we can still contribute good to this world. Raise our children right to make sure the next generation doesn’t repeat the cycle of prejudiced hate and can move forward to finally accepting  _ all _ magical beings—while also protecting muggles.”

“ How exceedingly Gryffindor.” Draco replied dryly and then added lightly, “How many should we have?”

“ Two or three I think. Maybe more? Six?” She teased, tugging on his arm playfully.

“ You mean you don’t want an only child like we were? You bloody traitor.” Draco accused.

“ Well if we have magical children, I’d like for at least one of them to end up Gryffindor. I’m hedging my bets.” Hermione shrugged.

“ Impossible. Malfoy’s have been sorted into Slytherin for generations.” The blonde sniffed and Hermione raised her eyebrows at him,

“ You mean Malfoy-Granger’s.”

“ What?” Draco frowned, looking down at her as he stopped walking. They were on the outskirts of Diagon Alley now, halfway between where the new shops ended and partially-completed construction of apartments began.

“ Our children. I think we should hyphenate.” Hermione reiterated, amused by the crease that appeared between Draco’s eyebrows. Imagine how much deeper it would be if they did end up raising a child together. A tiny Malfoy-Granger human. She was suddenly struck with the desire to see Draco as a father and to have a child of her own—not just a thought or hope or a wish for a brighter future, but an actual flesh-and-blood  _ family _ \--

“ And would you take my last name if we married?” He asked, pulling her from her thoughts as a wipe of snow curled around them, fanning his bangs upwards.

“ Probably not. I quite like the sound of  _ ‘Hermione Granger’ _ . And then you could still use ‘Granger’ as a pet name, right  _ Malfoy? _ ” She reached up and pinched one of his cheeks in teasing, an excuse to touch him as his skin warmed her fingers. He rolled his eyes but caught her hand against his cheek, unlinking their arms.

“ Well then, Hermione  _ Granger _ . Would you like to stay Hermione Granger?” Draco said slowly, producing a small black box from his pocket and getting down on one knee in the snow before her. Hermione’s eyes widened and her fingers flew to her lips as he opened the box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring with a simple silver setting and sparkling cut, “I had it made a few months ago, I’ve just been waiting to hear how much you loathe taking my last name or passing it on to our future progeny for me to--”

“ Malfoy.” Hermione said, reaching out to touch his hand around the box, “Shut up or I’ll say no.”

And suddenly she was in Draco’s arms and his warm cheek was pressed against hers, the two of them laughing in the snow as evening slipped into night. Hermione held on tightly to Draco as she admired the simple yet stunning new ring on her finger, reflecting the lights of the nearby Diagon Alley shops. Draco pressed a kiss against her temple, the two of them standing in their own little world as another gust of snow swirled around their entwined forms.

Hermione loved the holidays.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, I can't tell if this chapter or the next one is my favorite. 6 down, 2 to go!
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the kudos and subs! Be back next week! Ta-ta!


	7. Objections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually do this, but if anyone would like an instrumental track to listen to while reading this chapter I suggest "Kitchen" by This Will Destroy You

**Chapter 7: Objections**

 

Pansy covertly dabbed at the corner of her eye as Harry finished his suggestion. Even Blaise was silent, nodding in approval as Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand.

“ Really Potter? Do you see me getting down on one knee?” Draco drawled, his chin in his hand.

“ For the right girl, yes.” Harry smiled, “And we all know who that girl is.”

“ Well before you do or don’t get down on a knee, you’ll need a ring first.” Ginny noted.

“ Do you have one yet?” Pansy asked, after clearing her throat delicately, “I have suggestions on that too.”

“ I think we all did.” Blaise chuckled, swiping another pastry.

“ I have a ring.” Draco said slowly and the table went silent. He reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a small silver box, resting it on the table before carefully opening it. On a bed of matching velvet sat a sparkling ring; the top of it dominated by a silver figure eight with two large diamonds, inlaid in each of the loops and flanked on either side by smaller clusters of silver and gold gems. There was an intricate woven pattern along the platinum band and something magical danced in the depths of the stones, as if there was fire trapped at an impossible depth inside of them.

“ I had it specialty-made.” Draco continued in a low voice, “The stones are from the vault—some of the oldest I could find—enchanted, they say, by Flamel himself.”

The witches and wizards seated around the table sat transfixed by the ring as if in a spell of their own. Pansy had teared up again and was dabbing furiously at her cheeks as a goofy smile broke out across Harry’s face. Ginny rested her cheek on her husband’s shoulder, admiring the ring that would soon adorn her best girlfriend’s finger and Blaise clapped Draco on the shoulder enthusiastically, earning a genuine smile from the blonde.

“ Hey Harry! What--” The silence was suddenly broken as another wizard walked up to the cafe table, stomping snow off his shoes before slowing to a halt. Ron Weasley stood behind Draco, brows furrowed as his eyes darted across the table to note the other witches and wizards present before finally stopping on the flickering ring in front of Draco.

“ Ah—hey, Ron.” Harry coughed out, watching the dawning comprehension creep across his best friend’s face.

“ What the bloody hell is this . . . this . . .” Ron’s blue eyes flicked back to Harry’s as his shock began to churn to hot anger.

“ Use your words.” Draco drawled with a curled lip, utterly unperturbed by the tense atmosphere that had settled over the gathering like a blanket. Pansy stared hard at the table, unspeaking, as Blaise glared at Ron.

“ Guys--” Harry shot Draco a warning glance that was ignored, “look, Ron--”

“ What the fuck Malfoy, are you going to propose?” Ron ignored Harry, rounding on his old schoolmate.

“ That  _ is _ why one gets a ring.” Draco replied with forced boredom, tapping a slender finger against the ring box.

“ You son of a--”

“ Ron,  _ look _ ,” Harry tried again, pushing his glasses up his nose and attempting to diffuse the situation, “Hermione and Draco have been together a long time, I know--”

“ A long time?” Ron choked out a strangled laugh, addressing Draco, “I waited an entire war for her after which she breaks up with me, spends two years defending your innocence, and then you up and  _ leave _ her? She was distraught after the trials! You broke her heart!”

“ She told me to go,” Draco replied, anger cracking through his carefully composed calm, “ _ She  _ broke up with  _ me-- _ ”

“ HAH! So you WERE together back then!” Ginny exclaimed, snapping her fingers and pointing at Draco, feeling vindicated.

“ So not helping, Gin.” Harry badly stage-whispered to her, absently rubbing his forehead out of nervous habit.

“ _ WHAT _ \--you--” Ron sputtered.

“ This is a mess.” Groaned Pansy, having seen this meeting play out very differently in her head.

“ \--And—And what are  _ you  _ doing here? My own sister--” Ron rounded on Ginny, pointing an accusing finger at her, grasping at targets in his indignation.

“ Well I’ve quite decided that your sister is one of my favorite Weasel’s now.” Draco spoke up again in a forcibly lazy drawl, “She’s jumped higher on the list.”

“ I mean, technically I’m a Potter since--” Ginny supplied as Ron interjected,

“ _ List? _ ”

Draco continued, pretending not to hear Ginny as he slid a finger across his lip in thought, “Yes I do think the She-Weasel sits around . . . number three now? Maybe four, depending on who your prankster brother is picking on that particular day.”

“ Who’s number one?” Ginny asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“ Ginny, please--” Harry threw his wife an exasperated look as he still tried to wrangle a hold of the situation but Draco barreled on,

“ Hmmm. I would say Charlie solely for the fact that his Hungarian Horntail almost killed Potter back in fourth year. Your mother is two because she scares me. The rest of you are tied for last.” Draco waved his hand noncommittally in the end, as if to encapsulate the rest of the Weasleys in his gesture. Ron’s face began to turn puce.

“ Ron, mate, let’s not—“ Harry jumped out of his chair to diffuse his best friend. He rested his hands squarely on Ron’s shoulders and gave them an imploring squeeze, “Draco is going to propose, yes. We all came here today to help give him suggestions for how to pop the question. To . . . support him.”

“ Oh well that’s just bloody precious, innit.” Ron spat, shrugging off Harry’s hands as he waved angrily between Harry and Ginny, “Really love you two fraternizing with the enemy here.”

“ We haven’t been the enemy for a long time, Weasley.” Blaise said slowly, in a low voice laced with self-control.

“ I beg to differ--” Draco held up a finger in protest as Ron rounded on him once more,

“ You want a suggestion for how to propose, Malfoy?” He pressed his fists against the table and leaned forward intimidatingly over Draco who appeared utterly unperturbed, “I’ve got one for you . . .”

~

There was mud.

That was the first observation that hit Hermione’s senses. Her world was washed in hues of sticky brown—it sucked at her boots and matted her hair and ran slick down her side where she was pressing her hand against her ribs.

No wait—she pulled her hand away and looked down at it, taking a moment for her eyes to focus— _ that _ was blood.

Hissing, she tucked her hand back against the wound at her side, applying pressure as she blinked rapidly to dispel the pain before her vision blurred again.

A breath. Two breaths. Smoke in the air. It hit her nostrils despite the prevailing scent of damp earth and brought her back from semi-consciousness, her head jerking forward violently with realization.

Death Eaters.

_ There was a raid on the safe house. _ Her mind said, and she hung onto the thought although it didn’t make sense yet, fighting another wave of unconsciousness.

Her head lolled to her shoulder and through half-lidded eyes she could see her other hand covered in mud, practically buried in it. Fitting. But there was something else there, something cylindrical and hard—she was holding her wand.

_ There was a raid on the safe house. _

Hermione’s fingers convulsed around her wand as she wrenched it from the earth with a sucking sound, the world finally finding meaning in her sluggish brain. There had been a Death Eater raid on the Order safe house she’d been staying in last night. There’d been fighting—casualties. Fire.

Without looking—without wanting to look—Hermione pointed her wand at her side and muttered a temporary patch-job for the wound there. It wouldn’t help the broken ribs, but it’d at least keep her blood inside her and she could worry about the rest later. For now—she looked around again, shaking the last bit of dizziness from her head.

Mud.

She was sitting with her back against one of the trees in the sparse grove to the south of the safe house. The house was little more than a shack, passed down through the Figg family and conscripted for the Order’s use two wars in a row now. She could see the charred remains of it ahead through the trees, still billowing huge plumes of smoke into the cold air, crackling with the dying embers of a fire.

Her team had been staying in it just last night, after a successful reconnaissance mission. It was a lean but talented team, working on information Hephestius had gleaned from some careful eavesdropping. They had tracked and recorded the movements of several prominent Death Eaters deep into the night, expanding their knowledge of Voldemort’s strongholds and discovering two new locations Order members may be imprisoned. That alone had rallied some hope in their small crew—losing Lavender Brown to Snatchers last month had been rough and everyone knew the clock was ticking to find her still alive.

It had almost been dawn when they returned to the Figg house, and the exhausted team had shuffled to bed. It couldn’t have been more than an hour between their return and the Death Eater raid.

_ There was a raid on the safe house. _

The cold dread sent her stomach churning and head fuzzing but she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep her senses sharp. The Death Eaters must have followed them or tracked them somehow. There had been five Order members in the safehouse last night; Theo Nott, Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, herself, and—Draco Malfoy.

Her world spun on its axis and she found that it wasn’t because she was losing consciousness again but because she was pulling herself forward, trying to crawl through the mud back towards the ruined house. She slipped and cursed and used a nearby tree to pull herself up, giving her a better vantage point. The grounds around the shack were ruined, the naturally thick mud agitated even more so by dozens of criss-crossing boot prints and craters from Unforgivables churning the landscape into something alien.

Hermione couldn’t see another soul as she sagged against the trunk of the tree, digging her nails into its bark as she slipped again in the mud underfoot. She had to find her team. She had to warn the Order. She had to--

A memory from last night—this morning?--swam in her addled brain. She had been leaning against the wall outside the one bathroom in the shack waiting for Susan to finish up before bed. Her head tilted back against the wall, Hermione had felt the tug of sleep and closed her eyes for only a second before opening them to find Draco standing in front of her. He was too close, and she stared in silent surprise as his eyes darted across her face, their path uninterrupted by her awareness. It was as if he was searching for something, looking both at her and past her, stripping away freckles and skin and blood. They stood there a long moment, Hermione hardly daring to breathe under the blazing trail of his gaze as the house creaked around them and his brows furrowed.

“ You’ve got mud in your hair.” Hermione murmured, breaking the silence as she swiped a finger across his temple and pulled away to show him. He said nothing and with another searing rake of his gaze he had turned and was gone, stalking down the hallway with his dark cloak billowing behind him.

Hermione shook her head and pushed off of the tree, propelling herself forward. Her team needed her.

The house was in ruins and the grounds silent, but she still hobbled forward with her wand at the ready. As she turned the first corner around the destroyed shack, she caught sight of a blur of color and surged to the left before stumbling down a shallow ravine. Susan was laying on her back, half-buried in mud, her blue shirt a bright contrast against the brown and Hermione could tell that she was dead even from meters away. Hermione felt the wetness of tears slip silently down her cheeks as she was dimly reminded of a famous Muggle painting of Ophelia, from Hamlet; Susan’s arms rested out to her sides, palms turned upwards, her chin tilted back and mouth partially open as the mud pooled around her features like water.

The urge to rush to Susan’s side and hold her—to shake her—rose in Hermione but she choked it down as she backed towards the Figg house again. There was nothing she could do for the girl now, and there were still three missing teammates she needed to account for.

She found Ernie as she rounded the north side of the shack, slumped against the side of the house and covered in soot—dead. His wand lay snapped and discarded in his lap and his glasses were askew. Hermione bit so hard on the inside of her cheek that she drew blood as she walked heavily past the fallen Hufflepuff. Whatever spell or combination of spells had caused his death must have also set the house aflame, their dark trails streaking up the house's siding.

Hermione trudged onwards around the east side of the house and let out a shaky breath when she found no other bodies. She turned reluctantly back towards the shack, her stomach flipping at the thought of finding a teammate buried in the charcoal and twisted metal.

“ Wh—Who’s there?” A voice behind her yanked her from her thoughts and she whirled around, scanning the grounds around the shack. There was a slight movement from next to a swell of churned mud and Hermione caught sight of a familiar dark cloak.

Her body was moving again before she realized it, her feet fumbling to carry her across the slippery earth until she fell to her knees in front of Draco Malfoy. He lay on his side in the mud, his cloak splayed about him, his pale face in stark contrast with the ground as he breathed heavily, looking up at her with a furrowed brow and shaking wand.

“ Oh I thought . . . I thought . . .” He said, lowering his wand and closed his eyes to hide a wince as Hermione leaned over him. Her hands hovered over him, unsure of what to do or where to start. He was lying awkwardly on his arm and clutching his stomach, his forehead resting in the mud. He winced again as Hermione automatically began reciting the first healing spell she could think of, moving her own wand in a shaky circle.

“ I’m fine, I’m fine.” Draco explained with a cough, waving her off, “Bloody  _ hell _ , Death Eaters hit hard.”

At his admission, Hermione felt relief overtake her followed quickly by a deep exhaustion. It was as if a physical weight was pressing onto her from above, causing her back to bow and knees to sink into the mud. Her head was swimming as she lay down next to Draco on the ground, her head level with his, and curled her hands under her chin.

“ This is no time for naps, Granger.” Draco raised an eyebrow even as his breathing hitched in pain.

“ I think I hit my head.” Hermione mumbled, eyelids fluttering as she struggled to focus on Draco’s pale face. His blonde hair lay in disarray, plastered against the slick sweat of his forehead.

“ You probably have a concussion. You went through the window head first.” He panted.

“I . . . the window?” Hermione struggled to recall any memory of such an event. All that surfaced was one of earlier yesterday afternoon, before they left on the surveillance mission. It was overcast and had been pouring rain for a solid day by then, and Hermione had found herself standing in the kitchen gripping a mug of tea with both hands as she watched the rain weave rivets down the east-facing window. There was a creek of shoddy floorboards and Draco was standing next to her, his shoulder pressed against hers, too close to be accidental in an empty room. They stood there side by side, not speaking or looking at each other until Hermione’s tea went cold and still the rain poured on.

“ The living room. When the Death Eaters came. Some kind of Apparation-tracking—hey,” Draco snapped, shaking her sharply by the shoulder as Hermione’s eyes shuttered back open, “Come on Granger, I need at least one of us to be functioning here.”

“ My head hurts.” She mumbled and Draco found the strength to roll his eyes,

“ Brilliant assessment Granger, now--”

“ Ernie and Susan are dead. I can’t find Nott.” Hermione interrupted, shaking her head and feeling the cold mud pull at her side.

Draco let out a string of curse words, somehow naming and damning all four Hogwarts founders in a profanity that would have made even Mad-eye Moody blush. The two of them lay in silence for a moment, letting the reality of their teammate’s deaths settle over them.

“ Theo’s missing? That’s just like the git—step out and conveniently escape irreparable bodily harm.” Draco said dryly before wincing again, a shiver running through him.

“ Are you okay?” Hermione asked with growing concern as his pale features blanched further, the hand on her shoulder beginning to shake.

“ Turns out Death Eaters really don’t like a turncoat.” Draco muttered, shuddering as he pulled his arm back around himself.

“ Malfoy--”

“ You should go find Theo. Get back to the Order and let them know what happened. Ernie and Susan are down, their spots will need to be filled . . .” Draco trailed off as a particularly bad convulsion wracked his body.

“ _ Malfoy.  _ What’s wrong?” Hermione reiterated firmly, her panic rising as Draco’s breathing became labored.

“ That’s an order, Number Two. Get back to McGonagall and--”

“ I’m not leaving.  _ Bloody hell _ , Draco, tell me  _ what’s wrong _ .” She sat up in indignation, ignoring the swimming in head and fuzzing at her vision that the sudden motion caused as she looked down at the defeated blonde.

“ You can’t do anything. Cruciatus after-effects.” Draco explained between sharp breaths as he rode out another wave of pain from the curse.

“ W—what? Did you say  _ Cruciatus _ ?” Agony contorted his features as Hermione frantically began mumbling healing spells, numbing spells, stitching spells, going down the list in her head of what she had learned from the Order Healers. Someone subjected to the effects of the Cruciatus for long enough could have irreversible side effects, and who knew how long Hermione had been knocked unconscious or Draco had been tortured. The boy growled under her ministrations,

“ Granger, I told you, there’s nothing—” He coughed suddenly, his body wracked in a spasm and Hermione froze over him as he wheezed, “Just . . . stop.”

“ I—I can’t.” She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks again, unable to tell when they had restarted or if they had ever even stopped. Her hands hovered uselessly over Draco’s convulsing body, out of spells, unable to touch the Unforgivable’s damage with her magic. His brow twisted in pain and her hands flew to his face in a gesture of comfort—but froze inches away, unable to touch his features which managed somehow to stay icily beautiful despite the flecks of mud marring them. She could only watch, fisting her shaking hands into her lap as Draco opened his eyes once more when the pain receded.

“ _ Fuck _ .” Draco spat into the dirt.

They sat in a long silence, Hermione watching helplessly as Draco struggled to catch his breath again.

“ Why didn’t you say anything?” Hermione whispered, feeling the cloudiness in her head begin to turn into a dully throbbing pain.

“ Wouldn’t have mattered.” Draco heaved a breath, turning his head to look up at her, “We both know what the side effects are. We’ve seen it used. We’ve felt it.”

“ We can—we can get a portkey. Take you to the Healers at HQ. Shacklebolt will know . . .” Hermione’s head spun as she tried to formulate a plan. She clutched at her temple, her hand sliding against the mud there. Draco shook his head weakly, and Hermione was struck again by how his light complexion stood out from the dark, tumultuous mud around it.

“ No time.” He rasped, “Go find Theo. Get out of here in case they come back.”

“ No, Malfoy. I’m staying right here.” Hermione said softly, and mustering her courage reached out to brush her fingertips along the ridge of his flawless cheek, careful to avoid the fresh gash along his jaw.

Something stirred in Draco’s eyes, a question, a million questions all bubbling up at once in that heated gaze. A lifetime stretched out before them at her touch and Hermione saw a future past the war, past just brushing shoulders and exchanged glances. She saw them living through the battles and growing old. She saw the two of them walking in Diagon, working in the Ministry, getting a flat together, traveling. She saw the questions he wanted to ask and hadn’t. The questions he still didn’t.

“ You have mud in your hair.” Draco said breathlessly, reaching up with a badly shaking hand to tug on a lock of her hair.

He died staring into her eyes, the millions of unasked questions behind his gaze slipping away just as he did.

Hermione’s hand trembled against his cheek, a humming chord within her falling silent.

“ Granger.” Theo seemed to unfold himself from the shadows of the treeline and crouch at her side, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, “We should go.”

“ We should.” Hermione agreed, taking a shaking breath as she closed her eyes to Draco’s cold grey ones. She picked herself up slowly, extracting her legs from the mud. Theo was similarly battered and wrapped a steadying arm around her shoulder as she looked back at Draco’s crumpled body.

“ Cruciatus. There’s nothing we could have done.” Theo said, in an uncharacteristically sincere voice.

“ I—I know. Let’s get back to HQ. We need to inform McGonagall and—” Hermione turned away from Draco, shrugging her cloak tighter around her body, “and there’s someone I have to see.”

Theo pulled away from Hermione, Apparating into thin air with a crack and for a moment it was just Hermione standing alone in the muddy field. She stared up at the broken, blackened house before her and watched the smoke curl up into the cool air, the field around her heavy with silence. She shook her head to clear it.

_ There was a raid on the safe house. _

More than just her friends died here today.

Hermione Apparated away.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left! Thanks to everyone for sticking with me so far! The kudos and comments really make my day :)  
> Extra shoutout to Garageghoul for her review's enthusiasm! Thank you for understanding my goofy fic!
> 
> Also, as a side note I'd like to say that I usually dislike Dramione fics that vilify Ron. However, I do think he'd be upset at the pairing aaaaand I wanted an excuse to write his proposal idea. SORRY NOT SORRY.


	8. The Outervention

**Chapter 8: The Outervention**

 

“Well _that’s_ morbid.” Draco said, raising an eyebrow at the redhead who still towered over him, “There’s really no way for me to propose if I _die._ ”

“That’s the point.” Ron growled.

“Actually, I think _you’re_ missing the point of this exercise.” Draco deadpanned.

“Ron, mate, you can’t—” Harry had rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses rested so often during Ron’s story that the skin there had turned a dull red, “The war is over.”

“Ah, yes, an easily overlooked plot point”, Draco replied dryly, “So let me get this straight, Weasel, instead of proposing to my girlfriend of three years—”

“—Eight years—” Ginny interrupted, helpfully.

“—You want me to go back to the war, fight Death Eaters, and die?” Draco asked, with careful calm.

“I would have been better if you had.” Ron muttered darkly.

There was a flurry of motion and a scuffing of chairs; Blaise raising in a half-crouch with his wand at the ready while Draco remained seated, snapping a hand down over the ring box as his other trained his wand towards Ron. Ginny jumped up to tug on her brother’s shoulder, pulling him away from the table, and Harry put himself between the two men, holding one hand up to the Slytherins and the other against Ron’s chest.

But it was Pansy who made the most ruckus, her chair clattering into the wall behind her as she stood up sharply, slamming her palms down against the table. Everyone in the immediate vicinity froze to look at her.

“ _Enough_ _!"_   She roared, pointing a sharply manicured nail at Ron. She had painted it non-magically for the first time in her life and was a little self-conscious at the results, but as she stared down at Ron over its glossy tip she was proud of her handiwork, “Ronald Weasley! Absolutely no part of that proposal was romantic _in the least_.”

Ron stared at her flabbergasted, his mouth hanging wordlessly open.

“ _I_ called this meeting today so we could help Draco figure out how to propose in a _meaningful_ way. There’s nothing meaningful or noble about dying in a war when you leave the one you love to pick up the pieces alone. _Ah-ah-ah!_ ” Pansy shook her finger at Harry who had opened his mouth to speak and immediately closed it, “I called this meeting because Draco and Granger are _in love_ . They have been for a _very long time._ Probably since before the war even started.”

“I don’t think—” Draco began, but Pansy drew her finger on him next,

“ _Ahh-ah-AH!_ I am talking!” Draco snapped his mouth shut as Pansy continued, gesturing around the table, “We _all_ went to school with you! We _all_ saw it! I _dated_ _you_ and I saw it!”

“Chicks always know, mate.” Blase whispered out of the side of his mouth to Draco who just stared at Pansy with wide eyes.

“And now— _now_ one of us finally has the chance to move forward in their damn life since the war, to—to bring some _good_ back into this world, like Potter said. To make amends for the past, and find happiness,” Pansy railed, her attention back on Ron, “And _you_ are _royally_ fucking it up, Weasley!”

Ron stared at the smaller witch with a mixture of awe and fear, the anger having drained from him during her tirade. In fact, the entire table stared at Pansy with dawning respect.

“And Salazar’s sack, you can’t just have Hermione run back to you at the end of your proposal suggestion!” Pansy rolled her eyes.

“I—I didn’t—” Just as soon as Ron rediscovered his voice he was once again on the receiving end of Pansy’s accusatory finger,

“Oh yes you did, ‘there’s someone I have to see.’—like you didn’t self-insert yourself, Weasley! _Honestly._ ” She finished angrily, blowing her bangs out of her face with a huff.

“I . . . do . . . are—are you seeing anybody?” Ron blinked as if seeing the dark haired witch for the first time.

Pansy sat back down in her chair heavily, the outburst having drained her as she looked up at the redhead in amusement, “No, but Floo me later. Right now, we have a proposal to plan. Run along.” She waggled her fingers at him and her nail polish looked rather glossy in the light if she did say so herself.

“I’ll . . . catch up with you later, Harry. Gin.” Ron awkwardly nodded to his sister and brother-in-law before turning to the rest of the table, “Zabini. Malfoy, just—just don’t fuck it up.”

“Somehow I’ll find it within myself not to.” Draco drawled before withering under Pansy’s glare.

“And uh, I’ll Floo you later Parkinson.” Ron mumbled before backing away from the table, leaving a group of stunned witches and wizards in his wake.

“Now where were we?” Pansy tapped her nails on the table.

“Can I slow-clap you?” Ginny asked, glancing around the table, “Is the slow-clap still a thing?”

“Ok, but you should definitely floo Ron.” Harry told Pansy, scooting his chair into the table, “Somehow, I think you two would really hit it off.”

“And with _that_ ,” Draco said, standing and scooping the ring box off the table, “I take my leave. It was lovely, really. Let’s never do this again.”

“How about brunch next weekend? I’m free on Saturday.” Ginny said, touching Pansy’s arm who smiled and nodded.

“I’m good for brunch if we just get a proper pile of scones again.” Blaise grinned.

“I’ll tell Hermione.” Harry added.

“ _Brilliant_.” Draco drawled, slinging his coat on quickly “Can’t wait. I will be unfortunately staying at home for it, avoiding all of you.”

“See you next Saturday, Draco.” Ginny waved.

“Oh, Draco, wait—” Harry stood from his chair and the blonde turned to face him, having walked several steps away from the table in his haste to exit. The table of mixed Gryffindors and Slytherins looked up at him from behind the Boy Who Lived, who gave Draco a cheeky grin, “—don’t fuck it up, mate.”

“Helpful as always, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes before turning back to the cafe doors and leaving the table to plan their brunches and get-togethers that he would no doubt be sucked into. He groaned internally as he flipped his coat collar up against the cold, walking down the snowy Diagon Alley streets back to the Leaky Cauldron where he could catch a Floo to his flat. The ring box sat heavy in his pocket, and he wrapped a careful fist around it as he walked.

Draco stepped through the fireplace into the apartment he shared with Hermione and found her curled up on the couch in their living room, a mug of tea and a book balanced on the arm of the couch next to her. The sight of her put Draco at a gentle ease for the first time in hours and he felt the tension from the morning’s activity slip off his shoulders.

“Hey there. How was coffee with Pansy?” Hermione asked, giving him a smile as he magic’d away the soot and snow on their hearth and hung up his coat.

Draco paused, draping himself across the couch next to Hermione, who scooted over to give him some room, “Eventful.” He said carefully, “There were a few party crashers and it drug on from coffee to breakfast to lunch. Also Pansy and the Weasel might start dating, and we might see them next weekend.”

“What?” Hermione frowned, looking up from her book at him.

“I’m sure Pans or the She-Weasel will owl you.” Draco waved his hand noncommittally, leaning his head back against the couch as he closed his eyes and massaged his temples where a headache had been steadily building.

“Ginny will?” Hermione asked, her frown deepening.

“Yes. Maybe. Probably both of them will owl, just—look out for owls.” Draco groaned before feeling Hermione’s cool fingertips against his temple and the familiar roll of her magic across his skin. His headache disappeared as he blinked open his eyes to look over at her.

“There, now, tell me again about Pansy and Ron and Ginny?” Hermione asked, but all Draco could see was the tilt of her neck and jawline as she looked over at him, the perfect bow curve of her upper lip, and how the light from the window behind them lit up a halo around her hair and eyelashes as she blinked at him in amusement.

“They are utterly boring and unimportant.” Draco drawled. _Compared to you_.

“You shouldn’t talk about our friends that way, Malfoy. They’re some of the few you’ve got.” Hermione elbowed him teasingly, and he tugged on a piece of her hair in retaliation, wrapping the curling strand around his finger absently.

“Don’t remind me.” They sat in silence for a bit, Hermione turning back to reading and Draco carefully spinning pieces of her hair around his fingers, relishing in the calm of her presence. He didn’t know how or when it had happened, only that his life had been turned upside-down during the war and the girl that he used to get into earth-shakingly explosive rows with was also the one thing on the planet keeping him sane. It was part of the reason they worked so well together in the war, Number One and Number Two, bickering to keep each other from getting too withdrawn and sitting near each other when they needed comfort. Hermione had saved him more times than she realized.

“Granger,” Draco said slowly, sliding a hand into his pocket and watching Hermione’s lashes flutter back up towards him, her eyes taking a moment to unfocus from whichever world she had been immersed in and refocusing on his face, “I know it took us a while and I know we’ve been through some rough patches, but you waited for me. Even when I didn’t think I was coming back—physically or mentally. You were there, you’ve always been there.”

“This is for you.” Draco took the ring box out of his pocket and opened it for her, watching as Hermione’s lips quirked up in a smile. Her eyes sparkled with a flame to match the enchanted stones on the ring and Draco felt the familiar rush of his heart swelling, tearing, and mending all at the same time. It was excruciating and exhilarating and he had hated it at first, but it was a feeling that only Hermione could elicit and so he clung to it, drinking her in as she reached out to touch the ring with careful fingers.

“It’s just as beautiful as the first time I saw it.” Hermione said, smiling up at him, “Now I can take this thing off.”

She waved her left hand between them, flashing the temporary ring she had been wearing on her finger while Draco got the real one resized to fit better. Draco caught her hand and carefully removed the placeholder band, reaching for the custom ring.

“The jeweler in Diagon stopped me when I went to pick it up this morning.” He teased, slipping the ring onto her finger where it sat snugly, “Said that I still had a chance to back out if I was unsure.”

“And are you unsure?” Hermione asked wryly, wiggling the fingers on her left hand experimentally.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” Draco said solemnly, his words echoing with the weight of having crossed a war and a world to be with her. Hermione brushed a peck against the hollow of his cheek and Draco felt his heart squeeze painfully with life.

“How are we going to tell everyone? It’s a fun secret for now,” Hermione admitted, leaning back against Draco’s shoulder and admiring the new ring on her finger as it danced in the light, “but we see most of them in two weeks for early Christmas at the Burrow.”

“Let’s worry about that later, Hermione Granger-Malfoy.” Draco hummed, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into him, dropping his nose into her hair.

“Just Granger. Let’s hyphenate if we have kids, hm?” Hermione mused, twisting her hand in the light.

Draco groaned, dropping his head back against the couch, “Potter knows you pretty well, huh?”

“He always has, why do you ask?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Draco mumbled, sinking his nose back into her hair. He could handle having Potter and the She-Weasel and even Weasley—if he stopped being such an insufferable git—in his life as long as Hermione was by his side. He had spent too much time without her to waste any time he could be spending with her.

A memory floated to the surface of his mind, buoyed by Hermione’s familiar scent. It was from early in the war, his team had arrived back at a safe house several fewer than when they first set out—brave members of the Order struck down in a gamble to distract Voldemort’s forces while another contingency raided an important Death Eater command point. Draco hated planning these distraction missions, much more in favor of the “get in, get out” mentality that raids or intelligence-gathering assignments supported. Running distraction was dirty and messy and sloppy. Lives were always lost, under _his_ watch.

The moment Draco had finished debriefing with Lupin—Astoria Greengrass and Anthony Goldstein dead, Flora Carrow wounded—he had stalked down the hallways of the house, uncaring of the muddy tracks he left. He had stomped into the darkness of the backyard ready to scream or hex something inanimate when he heard a sniffling from the dark.

Squinting and waiting for his eyes to adjust, it took Draco a few moments to recognize Hermione standing a few feet away in her socks, swiping furiously at her eyes. His hot anger ebbed as he watched the weak lights from the house illuminate the streaks of tears against her cheeks, the intense dark of the rural night enveloping most of her form.

“They just . . . just . . . Astoria and Tony—they . . .” Hermione choked out between sobs, taking deep lung-rattling breaths, on the edge of a panic attack, but Draco heard the rest of her sentence echo in his head.

_They’re just gone._

The two of them weren’t close—Hermione had made her reluctance to work with him quite clear, and Draco reminded her of her Number Two position every chance he got. And yet he could see the palpability of her grief, that she was taking the loss of their teammates even worse than he was.

And so he did something that Draco Malfoy never liked; he reacted before thinking.

“Come here.” Draco said, holding open his arm to her begrudgingly. The hug was stiff and awkward at first, both of them unused to the closeness of the other, but it soon melted into something different. Her forehead fit against his collarbone and Draco felt his senses climb into overdrive as he rested a tentative hand against her back, feeling the warmth seep into his chilled limbs.

Draco’s heart constricted painfully and he went to pull away but Hermione had fisted her hands in his shirt as she cried he felt something inside of him shift irreparably. And suddenly he was reacting without thought again, burying his nose in her hair which still held the smoke-smell of killing curses from the battlefield. But under it was a softer smell, more feminine, more Hermione.

From that night until now, years later on the couch in their shared London flat, it felt to Draco as if a string had stretched taut, pinning and connecting the two of them across various moments in time.

And time was the crux of it, wasn’t it? It had taken them a long time to find each other but he was always supposed to end up with her, even when he didn’t know it yet. Across the years, across the globe, across battlefields, courtrooms, and classrooms—it was only a matter of time until they were suddenly side by side again.

Three years, eight years, fourteen years . . . none of it mattered when compared to a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! Thanks to everyone who followed along on this goofy fic. The comments and kudos really made me smile over the past few weeks.  
> I especially want to shoutout Pins_n_Needles, Garageghoul, and Hufflepuffanddurinsdaughter who were upset with Ron last chapter. I hope Pansy put him in his place for you! (Also thank you to Skyartemis for the exclamations!!!)
> 
> I came out of fic retirement to write some good good Dramione drama, so I'm not sure if this is the kick to my rear to dive headfirst back into ficlife, or if I'll lie dormant for another decade. Either way, thank you for reading! :)


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